Leaving Normal
by LeighKelly
Summary: In small towns like Roswell, New Mexico, secrets are hard to keep. When Santana Lopez is shot in her father's diner, and Brittany Pierce saves her life, everything is put at risk, especially the secret Brittany has been hiding for all of her life, that she is most definitely not of this Earth. A/U Brittana, loosely set in the Roswell-verse.
1. Chapter 1-Secrets and Lies

**Author's Note: So, I was a total dork for ****_Roswell _****back in the day, and I've had this idea of Brittana in that type of situation for kind of a while now. If you watched the show, this first chapter stays pretty true to some of the events of the first episode, but it'll diverge from there, with some of the lore sticking around as the story progresses. If you didn't watch it, then good, you have no idea what I'm talking about and can take this as a blank slate. Updates will probably be every few weeks, because I have my plate kind of full with ****_Beautiful Life, _****but I couldn't get this out of my head, and figured I'd put it out there to see what you all think. Enjoy?**

* * *

If there's one thing about small towns, especially small towns like Roswell, New Mexico, where there is _still_ speculation, even more than sixty-six years later, over the infamous alleged crash of a UFO in 1947, it is that secrets don't make friends. Brittany S. Pierce, unfortunately, had two secrets. Her first was relatively harmless, if not embarrassing. From the time she'd first laid eyes on Santana Lopez at six years old, she had fallen completely and undeniably in love with her. Despite the fact that Brittany was fairly certain that the Lopez family had like, founded the state or something, they'd been in Roswell so long (and she wasn't being racist, even though they _were_ Mexican, and they were in _New_ Mexico), Santana was the perfect, all American girl. With her raven hair, her stunning dark eyes, her skin that looked like it had been kissed all over by the sun (Brittany wished _she_ could kiss her all over), and the cheerleading uniform that hugged her body in all the right places, Brittany wanted her more than anything. But that was off limits, she could never have her because of the other secret.

Brittany's second secret,_ that _was the dangerous one, more dangerous than anything in the world, the universe maybe. It was a secret she shared with her brother, Sam and their best (or rather, only) friend Quinn Fabray. The secret that set them apart, even if no one knew it, in the smallest of small towns. They were, all three of them, even though they lacked gigantic black eyes, green skin or antennae, most definitely not of this Earth.

It was no secret in Roswell, that two blonde children, a boy and a girl, had been found wandering in the desert sometime past midnight in April of 2003. When the local sheriff, Burt Hummel had picked them up on the side of the dirt road he'd been patrolling, neither of them spoke, neither of them cried, they just stared at him with eyes wide, as if they'd never seen another human before (and the truth was, they _hadn't_). Severe trauma, the doctors in the hospital had chalked their silence up to, even if no signs of physical distress marked their bodies, and after the extensive search to find the monsters who would leave their children to fend for themselves out in the wild failed, a frantic search to find a new home for them ensued. Because not much happens in Roswell, it was basically headline news for two full weeks, until Evan and Susan Pierce, a real estate lawyer and a homemaker, made it their personal mission to adopt the Lost Children, as they'd come to be known.

Life was good for the pair, who'd been given, with all the love in the world, a place to call home and the names of their parents. Brittany Susan and Samuel Evan Pierce had the best of everything, tutors, therapists, toys, books, you name it, they were given it. The same could not be said for the sullen, angry little girl, who'd been handed over to social services, just days later, while frantically searching the hospital for her lost comrades, how she'd even come to know them, she couldn't be sure. The third blonde, who strangely no one thought to connect to the other two, was tossed almost immediately into the foster care system, given the name Lucy Fabray, although for some reason, unbeknownst to anyone else, decided to go by the name Quinn.

It was Brittany who had found Quinn first, and instinctively knew who she was, knew that she was the same girl who'd been out in the desert with them some six months earlier. Immediately upon reconnecting, in a second grade classroom at Roswell Elementary School, the two little girls sobbed into each other's arms, knowing that they shared a secret that could never be spoken to anyone outside of their triad. Flash forward ten years later, and Brittany, Sam and Quinn were sitting in a diner, more specifically, the diner owned by the father of one Santana Lopez, and once again, Brittany was attempting to discretely stare at the girl she wanted more than anything, but could never have.

"Britt!" Sam called out, blowing a straw wrapper and hitting her directly between the eyes. "Could you be any more obvious right now?"

"I don't see the problem." She protested. "With just appreciating the natural beauty of the world. I mean look at her. Actually, don't, I don't want you to think she's material for any of that hand action you get."

"What? She's only public domain for _your_ hand action?" Sam countered, and Brittany made to toss a salt shaker in his direction before Quinn grabbed her arm angrily.

"How many times do I have to tell you two, no drawing attention? No staring at Roswell's Sweetheart, no throwing shit in her father's diner, no anything. I swear, sometimes the two of you shouldn't even be allowed to speak."

"Relax, Quinn." Sam shook his head, and then lowered his voice significantly. "If we all acted as uptight as you, no one would actually believe we're normal teenagers."

"And I still don't see why I can't stare at Santana. Everyone stares at her, and it's not like she isn't a total out and proud lesbian."

"That is _precisely_ why you can't, Brittany." Quinn snapped. "I know you don't realize it, but I'm not even into girls and I know how attractive you are. And this entire town knows just how into beautiful blondes Santana Lopez is. One wrong move, and we all end up in some laboratory being probed."

"Number one, you apparently watch too many science fiction movies. Number two, isn't it usually the aliens doing the probing of the humans, and not the other way around?" Sam tried to joke, but was met with Quinn's icy glare.

"And number three." Brittany added. "Just what kind if probing are we talking about, because-"

"Don't even finish the sentence." Quinn cut her off with a raised hand a huff. "This isn't a joke."

"I'm well aware it's not a _joke_." A twinge of anger rose in Brittany's voice. "I'm not _stupid_. And if I thought it was a joke, I would be pressing Santana up against that counter right now and doing exactly what any normal teenager wants to do to her. But I'm_ not_ normal, I get it. I'm just so sick off talking about it oh, I don't know, all the time."

"I'm just trying to-"

"Keep us safe, I know Quinn." Brittany sighed. "It's just sometimes I wish-"

"We could be a little more human." Sam finished, his glance at Santana's best friend Mercedes Jones not missed by either of the blonde girls.

Before Quinn could speak another word, the two men at the table beside them stood up, and suddenly, with the sound of a cocked pistol, everything the three knew, in the world that wasn't truly theirs, began to splinter apart.

* * *

Although her life seemed to be an open book, and it kind of had to be, because everyone in Roswell knew her, knew her family, knew about ninety-nine-point-nine percent of her business, Santana Lopez had a secret. No, it wasn't that she liked girls, that secret had been effectively dealt with when she was fourteen years old and kissed Alyssa, a girl on her cheerleading squad, and promptly ran home to tell her parents before a rumor started to spread. Javier Lopez panicked at first, the Lopez family has a name to protect, after all, but once Santana's mother Maribel got through to him, and the whole town nearly threw a parade in honor of their now openly sapphic princess, Javier calmed down significantly, and apologized profusely to his only daughter. Santana's second secret though, the one she kept hidden deep inside of her, was the one that might eventually break her father. Unlike every Lopez in seven generations, Santana had no desire to remain in the one horse town of Roswell, no desire to be the next in line to own the same diner than had been in her family since five years after New Mexico had been granted statehood. No, Santana wanted bigger, she wanted something, anything other than the excruciatingly painful normalcy that had been thrust upon her. That secret though, she kept hidden under a cheerleading uniform (Go Titans!), impeccable grades, and seemingly endless shifts waiting tables in the stifling alien themed diner.

Donning a lime green button up dress, antennae ("Seriously, Papi." She'd begged. "Can't we just change the theme to _anything_ else?") and the most comfortable of sneakers, the brunette moved effortlessly from table to table, flashing her small town girl charm and an impressive set of dimples, trying to hide from the world just how crippling all the normalcy was to her spirit. As she leaned against the counter, waiting for Noah Puckerman, her cousin, somehow, by marriage, to shove her burgers through the window, Santana sighed, glancing over at the table where a certain beautiful blonde and her equally blonde brother and friend sat, desperate to know just who Brittany Pierce was, and why, unlike most everyone else in Roswell, the girl barely appeared to spare her a passing look.

"Girl, quit your staring and get your ass back out on the floor. These tables aren't going to wait themselves." Santana's best friend since before birth, Mercedes Jones interrupted her, smacking her on the arm. "If you want blondie so bad, just go over there and talk to her."

"Puh-lease, 'Cedes, like her brother and Quinn Fabitch would even let me within a hundred yards of her. I just don't get them. They're all weird and withdrawn, but on Brittany, it kind of looks crazy hot."

"Here, switch tables with me. Because I'm such a good friend, I'll take ugly and uglier by the door and you can have the Hitler Youth."

"Stop calling them that. It was funny like, the first fifteen times you said it, now you just kind of sound like an asshole."

"Well they're just as untouchable." Mercedes smirked, grabbing the plates that Puck had set on the pass through for Santana and tossing an order slip in her general direction. "You'll thank me later, princess."

Mercedes turned quickly, before Santana could say anything else, and the Latina let out another sigh. Talk to Brittany Pierce, right. It was ridiculous, she was _the_ Santana Lopez, why did the idea of talking to a beautiful girl suddenly make her feel so weak in the knees? Her thoughts were interrupted though, when a pistol cocked and she snapped her eyes up an instant too late, and her entire world went black with the sickly smell of sulfur and copper, and an agonizing pain that hit just above her naval.

* * *

"Don't even think about it, Brittany." Quinn yelped, grabbing her friend roughly by the arm as the diner erupted into a panicked frenzy. "Don't. Even. _Think_. About. It."

"Get off of me!" Brittany shoved her away as Sam attempted to intervene between the two. "I need to see if she's okay."

"You don't even know her!"

"I don't care." Brittany managed to break free of both Quinn's hand, and her brother's that had latched on to her other arm. "I'm not going to let her die."

Without another word, she sprinted across the diner on her long legs, and hopped over the counter to where the girl she'd been dreaming about for so many years lay helpless on the floor. Hardly sparing a second glance at anything other than the rapidly growing pool of blood that surrounded Santana, Brittany put her hands on both sides of the other girl's face, forcing her to open her eyes.

"Santana, I need you to look at me."

"Brittany Pierce?" The fast fading girl rasped out. "It's this a dream."

"Yeah." Brittany let out a strangled laugh, not wanting the other girl to start panicking and make the situation worse. "It's all a dream. You're going to wake up soon and it will all be okay. But you've gotta look at me. Look in my eyes."

"They're beautiful. I could look into them forever." She sighed dreamily, but despite her words, Santana's eyes began to close, and Brittany felt herself start to panic.

Knowing she didn't have much more time to waste, Brittany tore the buttons from Santana's dress, and fought the urge to be sick at the gaping wound that ripped through Santana's perfectly toned stomach. It didn't matter what happened in the aftermath, she couldn't just sit there and let another human being bleed out in her arms, let alone the human that she just so happened to be in love with. Continuing to cup one of Santana's cheeks with her hand, forcing her not to break eye contact, Brittany pressed the other over the injury, a shuddering wince wracking the brunette's body at the contact. Not exactly the way the first physical contact with Santana Lopez ever went in Brittany's dream's. Pushing all other thoughts from her mind, Brittany's focused on the healing of organs, tissue, skin, carefully piecing everything back together with just the power of her touch. What the blonde didn't know though, was that without provocation, so much of Santana's mind would be open to her, and she couldn't what flowed from one mind to the other through their physical connection.

_A five year old Santana sitting up on the counter in the very same diner, swinging her legs and patiently waiting for her father to make her a milkshake, her hair pulled back in two braids and dirty green Converse sneakers on her feet._

_Santana a few years older, glaring across the playground at Quinn, and her eyes slightly softening when she caught sight of Brittany._

_Santana beating the hell out of Noah Puckerman for taunting her._

_The first day of high school, Santana's red and white uniform hugging every curve of her body and a seductive grin on her face._

_Santana kissing that blonde cheerleader in the locker room._

_Santana and Mercedes sitting on a bed, mooning over pictures in a yearbook that Brittany couldn't see._

_Santana in the diner, laughing hard with Mercedes, rolling her eyes, being so beautifully, painfully normal._

There was so much Santana surrounding Brittany that it became too much to take. When she was finally able to pull away from the dark skinned girl, she assessed her work, and saw that the once destroyed flesh was whole again. Brittany breathed a sigh if relief, and then panic came at her like a freight train when she realized what she'd done, what she'd put at risk. Brittany was in love with Santana, Brittany saved Santana's life, and Brittany had a gigantic flashing sign over her head that read _Alien Freak_. When Santana's eyes opened, she stared at the girl still hovering above her, and just as she opened her mouth to scream out, something in Brittany's eyes stopped her.

"You fell. The gun went off and you got scared. You broke this bottle and spilled ketchup on yourself." Brittany shattered a bottle and poured it over the dried blood on Santana's dress. "Please, Santana. I'll explain everything later, just _please_."

Without waiting for a response, Brittany hopped back over the counter and into the hellfire that was burning in Quinn's eyes. Neither she, nor Sam said anything, but Quinn grabbed Brittany roughly by the arm and dragged her out to the car, shoving her into the backseat while Sam started the ignition.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Quinn roared, slapping at Brittany's shoulders. "How stupid can you be? It's over. It's fucking over Brittany."

"Don't call me _stupid_." Brittany looked down, avoiding Quinn's eyes. "Stupid would be leaving her there to die when I was perfectly capable of saving her life. So just shut up."

"Shut up? _Shut up?_ You just exposed yourself in front of half of the town, and you want me to shut up? Sam, back me up here."

"Sam, say you wouldn't have done it if it were Mercedes." Brittany challenged.

"Don't put me in the middle."

"Pick a side for once!" Quinn shrieked at him.

"There aren't sides!" Brittany screamed, banging her head against the window. "We are all on the same side, Quinn."

"The same _screwed_ side. You took it upon yourself to put all of us at risk because of a stupid crush you have on a girl who isn't even worth it."

"Stop saying stupid." Sam spoke up. "Just stop fighting, both of you, for one goddamn second of your lives. We need to focus, we need to come up with a story to tell Santana, and we need to come up with it quick."

"I'm telling her the truth."

"Oh no you're not!"

"You're not my boss, Quinn. I'm sick of taking orders from you, I'm sick of you treating me like I'm incapable to making decisions."

"Obviously you just proved your point so well." Quinn rolled her eyes. "We are so fucked."

"She's not going to say anything."

"I'm glad you're so sure of that." Quinn spit sarcastically. "I give it until the end of the day before we are locked up in some kind of facility because your little girlfriend told the police that one of the little freaks magically healed her mortal wound. Tell me, Brittany, tell me that you're positive she won't do that."

"I...I can't." Brittany admitted defeat, and Quinn started punching her fists against the seat.

"Hey, chill out Quinn." Sam looked in the rear view mirror.

"Chill out? Seriously, you want me to _chill out_? We are completely fucked, I've earned the right to lose it! Why am I the only one who sees how bad this is?"

"You're not. We all know, but screaming and calling Brittany stupid isn't going to do anything."

"Fix this." Quinn hissed, and Brittany could do nothing but nod and swallow hard, hoping she hadn't been wrong about Santana Lopez.

* * *

Shakily getting back onto her feet, after what was clearly the most mind boggling thing that had ever happened to her, Santana looked around the diner, trying to make sense of everything that had happened to her. Before she could do anything else, Mercedes was running toward her, throwing her arms around her friend, looking like she was about three seconds from bursting into tears.

"Santana!" She shrieked, her mouth a gape at the giant red stain on her dress.

"Ketchup, it's ketchup." Santana managed, eyes blinking furiously as she tried to piece together the last six minutes of her life. "I'm fine. Fine. Just a broken bottle, that my dad will probably take out of my paycheck."

"I thought you got shot! So help me, Santana Lopez, you die and leave me alone in this cow town, I will dig up your body and kill you again."

"I'm fine." Santana repeated, feeling far less than fine as thoughts of pleading blue eyes consumed her mind. "Did anyone get hurt?"

"What was Brittany Pierce doing back here?" Mercedes demanded, ignoring Santana's question.

"Seeing if I was okay, since my best friend apparently left me to die." She managed to joke.

"Shut up, I was in shock, okay? Also, you know blood totally flips me out, if you were shot, I wouldn'a wanted to see that shit."

"Nice."

"Told you blondie had it bad for you. Jumping over counters to save the life of her damsel in distress."

"She didn't save my life." Santana lied again, her throat scratchy with tears as she tried not to think about the fact that Brittany _did_ save her life. She had been dead, bleeding out on the floor and the ever mysterious Brittany Pierce touched her, and suddenly, she was alive again. What did that even mean? Who or _what _was that girl? "Unless I had been deathly allergic tomatoes. I'm fine, now stop touching me, I don't care if you want all up on this, you're freaking me out."

"God only knows why I was praying for you to live, bitch."

Thwacking Mercedes upside the head with an order pad and snatching the towel her friend held up, pressing it over the red splotch on her uniform, at least pretending that everything was completely normal and she hadn't just been revived from the dead by a gorgeous blonde, Santana braced herself against the counter as her father came running in, Sheriff Burt Hummel hot on his heels. She hadn't even thought about the police getting involved, but it was Roswell, the only remotely police worthy thing that had happened in the past year had been when Rachel Berry shattered her neighbor's window, for some reason thinking Barbra Streisand was in the house. An almost shooting (_an almost shooting_, Santana had to keep convincing herself of that) would be headline news for weeks. _Headline news for weeks_, Santana groaned inwardly, thinking of being the center of yet another story in Roswell. Shaking her head, her thoughts unwillingly went back to Brittany. Brittany. She'd hardly ever exchange words with the girl, and yet she'd saved her life. But how? How did she even _do_ that? Santana's mind was reeling when her father's arms around her once again slapped her back to reality.

"_Mija, dios mio! Estas bien? Qué paso?_"

"I'm fine, Papí. Some i_diotas_ were fighting, and a gun went off and I threw myself to the ground. Just ketchup." She pulled away, gesturing to her stomach and feeling like she would repeat that lie a million times in her life. A lie, for Brittany Pierce. Brittany who she hardly knew. Brittany who had saved her life, or _brought her back to life_, or something.

"_Gracia de dio!_"

"You sound like Mamí. I'm fine, I promise." Santana squeezed the towel in her hands tighter, hoping to stop their shaking. "Can we maybe not tell her about this?"

"Santanita! Your mother will kill _me_ if we keep this from her. You were almost shot."

"But I wasn't." _Lies, lies, lies_, was all Santana could think, every time the words came out of her mouth. It was a good thing she was nothing if not an expert liar.

"Sorry to interrupt." Burt said as he approached from where he had been speaking to one of the customers who'd witnessed the scene, tipping his hat to Santana. Over his shoulder, she watched as Mercedes spoke to a deputy, wildly gesticulating as she described the man who'd pulled out a gun. Santana couldn't help but roll her eyes at the dramatics, and yet, she had the _right_ to be dramatic, sort of. "But Miss Lopez, I'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright."

"That's fine, Sheriff." Santana nodded, hopping up onto a stool at the counter. "But I didn't see much."

Never letting the towel leave where she'd pressed it up against her stomach, Santana described the men who were fighting, retold the story about the damn ketchup bottle, and pressed two fingers against her temple, trying to stave off the impending migraine from the ridiculousness of the day. Sheriff Hummel never wrote anything down, he just watched her, almost like he was expecting her to be lying. Santana tried to shake it off, because _why_ would anyone lie about _not _being shot, but she couldn't help but squirm in her seat.

"Are you alright, Miss Lopez?"

"Just a little shaken up. I thought today would be a slow day." She attempted to joke.

"I only have a few more questions for you. There was a girl who came up to you after the gun went off, who was she?"

"I don't know." Santana tried to keep her breathing steady, and she didn't know why she hadn't just told Sheriff Hummel that it was Brittany, checking if she was okay, but something deep inside her told her that she shouldn't ever mention the other girl's name in association with the incident. It didn't take long before she felt Mercedes' eyes boring into her, and she hoped, _prayed_ that her friend wouldn't reveal that she'd lied. "She must not have been from around here, but she was closest to the counter, so..."

"Well where did she go?"

"Honestly, Sheriff, like I said, I'm pretty shaken up, I didn't really pay attention to where she'd gone. She asked if I was okay, I told her I was, and then she left. That's all. Why does that matter?"

"_Everything_ matters in an investigation, Miss Lopez." The officer told her, and Santana couldn't help but feel that there was something ominous behind his words.

"Is it alright if I go now? I'd really like to shower, you know, I'm a little sticky and all." She flashed him her flirtiest smile, and it didn't matter that the whole town knew she was a lesbian, she was still hot, and it worked, every single time.

"Yes, thank you. Go on and clean yourself up. But call me if you remember anything else from this afternoon. Pretty close call you had, and we'd like to make sure to keep Roswell as safe as possible."

"Definitely, sir. And thank you, you know, for keeping us all safe." Santana put on her best _daughter of the oldest family in Roswell_ smile and turned to walk away.

"Santana." Her father get stopped her, and she tilted her head to look at him.

"Please, Papí, can we talk later?"

"I was just going to tell you again that I'm glad you're alright." Javier Lopez said with a soft smile, and Santana gave him another hug, clinging to him tightly.

* * *

When Santana had finally managed to separate herself from her father, she stepped through the door to the kitchen, bracing herself against the wall so she could finally have a second to catch her breath. In the span of forty-five minutes, she'd been shot, been extremely close to death, been revived by an extremely hot _something_ that she'd secretly been admiring from a far since the blonde first developed that awesome body, and had lied to Sheriff Hummel, simply because Brittany had asked her to, giving her no further explanation to what had even occurred. Santana Lopez had been looking for something other than the mind numbing monotony of her day to day life for _years,_ and somehow, she seemed to have stumbled across it in the most unexpected way possible.

"Santana!" Mercedes called out, just as Santana had taken the first step up to the second floor of the diner where she and her parents lived. "Want to tell me what the hell just happened out there?"

"Nothing happened, 'Cedes."

"Don't play games with me." Mercedes put her hands on her hips, giving Santana a state down that only she was capable of. "I just watched you completely lie to Sheriff Hummel."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you don't? So if I go out there and tell him that it was _Brittany Pierce_ who came up to you after the gun went off, he'd already have that information?"

"Don't!" Santana nearly shouted. "Don't you dare."

"I'm not one of your Cheerios, Lopez, in case you forgot. you don't get to order me around."

"Mercedes, please." Santana switched tactics, sounding desperate. "Just don't say anything, okay?"

"I don't know what the hell you got yourself into, but lying to the sheriff? That ain't gonna end pretty. And it doesn't even make sense. Why does it matter that Brittany went to see if you were okay?"

"Just give me some time, okay? I'll explain it all to you when I figure out _myself _why I just did that." Santana looked Mercedes in the eye, and sensing her best friend's desperation, she softened.

"Fine." Mercedes conceded. "But it's me, don't you forget that. We've basically got a sworn blood oath to each other."

"I kill them, you help hide the body, and vice versa." Santana tried _again_ to joke, but the words _kill _and _body_ hit a little too close to home, causing her to shiver. "I just...I need to shower, okay? This day has been totally fucked up."

"Yeah basically. But at least we can head out early, right?"

"Right." Santana choked out a laugh, and let Mercedes hug her again.

* * *

It was four hours after _the incident_, as Quinn had insisted upon calling it (well, after she'd changed the name from _the moment Brittany acted like a fucking idiot and ruined all of our lives_), and Brittany was sitting alone on her bed, debating the pros and cons of telling Santana the truth. So far, the con side seemed to be much bigger than the pro, with items such as _Quinn will murder me in my sleep_ and _Santana will never look at me like I'm not a mutant freak, _weighing heavy on Brittany's mind. The thing was though, even though she'd shared very few actual conversations with Santana Lopez, Brittany was _well _aware that the girl was relentless, and knew that if she decided against telling her the truth, she needed to figure out a damn good story to tell her. Something that she was sure would be no easy feat.

Flopping herself back against the pillows in frustration, Brittany let out a heavy groan. This was why Quinn emotionally distanced herself from everyone, this was why Quinn never bothered to spare anyone, male or female, a second glance. Brittany though, she got too involved, even without trying. What Brittany had believed as a child to simply be jealousy for the normal life that Santana had, had turned out to be what she was nearly one-hundred-percent certain was total and complete unrequited love. Covering her face with a pillow and screaming into it, Brittany wished the day had never happened, wished that some Neanderthal looking man hadn't pulled out a gun, wished that Santana had never been shot, wished that she hadn't been forced to choose between keeping her secret and letting the girl who might never have spared her a second glance otherwise die. Because the truth was, even if Santana thought she was the biggest of freaks, even if Santana picked up the phone and called the FBI, even if she was poked and prodded and tortured, there was no way in any world that Brittany Pierce could have possibly sat there and let Santana Lopez die.

Deciding that her best bet was probably to just go to bed and go back to contemplating the future of her entire existence, despite the fact that it was barely after eight, Brittany closed her eyes, hoping that Sam wouldn't knock on her door to play video games (because really, even if the world was ending, her brother would _still_ be playing Halo), her parents wouldn't want to go for ice cream, or Quinn wouldn't call to yell at her some more. Just when sleep was nearly a reality, there was a banging against the glass of Brittany's window, and jumped up, so startled that she rolled right off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. When she looked up from where she fell, there was Santana on the other side of the glass, wearing a completely unreadable expression.

"Hi." Brittany said quietly, opening the window. "You know where I live?"

"We've been in the same class since the third grade, obviously I know where you live."

"Oh, right."

"Can I come in?" Santana asked, and Brittany's heart fluttered. Santana Lopez, in her bedroom, it was the _the dream_ come true. But once a millisecond passed, she remembered what had happened earlier in the day, and why her dream girl had come to her window. Time for decision making was up.

"Yeah, um, come on in." Brittany stepped to the side, and Santana climbed through the window. "Do you want a drink or something? Do you want to sit down? Are you hungry?"

"Let's just cut to the chase, Brittany." With those words, Santana began lifting up her tank top, and Brittany was pretty sure that she had died, or was in the midst of one of her many Latina head Cheerio sex dreams. She felt the blush creep up her neck, and then suddenly, her blood just about ran cold when she looked down at Santana's stomach. There, splayed against that perfect, perfect caramel colored skin was the silver mark of a handprint. And not just any handprint, _Brittany's_ handprint.

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah." Santana snorted bitterly. "Add a few more _shits_ and a _fuck_ or two and you've nailed my reaction. I want answers, and I want them now."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Brittany intentionally looked away from Santana's stomach, both because the mark there made her burn with shame that she was basically a freak, and the amount of flawless, flawless skin exposed made her burn in an entirely different way.

"How about you tell me the truth? How about you tell me why I went from being _dead_, from seeing black and then that cliche flash of light at the end of a tunnel to waking up completely alive and looking into your eyes? How about you tell me how I ended up with a glowing silver handprint, _your_ glowing silver handprint branded into my skin?"

"It'll fade." Brittany mumbled.

"Not really the point, Brittany." Santana spit, anger flaring inside of her. She didn't like being kept in the dark, she didn't like losing control and having no idea what was going on around her, she didn't like anything about this one bit, you know, except for the not being dead part. "I died. And now I'm alive, and I want to know how that happened."

"Incredible stroke of luck?" She tried, but when brown eyes met blue, Brittany knew that there was no possible way she could attempt to get around the truth. "You're probably not going to believe what I'm about to tell you."

"Until a few hours ago, I didn't believe that people could die and be revived by some magic touch, so go ahead, try me." Santana crossed her arms across her chest, biting her lip and staring at Brittany expectantly. Taking a moment, Brittany caught her breath and hoped that she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life.

"So, you know the 1947 crash?" Brittany asked, and Santana gave her a face, asking if she was serious with that question. "Right. Sorry. So, I'm not really sure how it all worked, but I was a part of that crash."

"Do you really think I'm joking about wanting answers?"

"I told you that you weren't going to believe me."

"No, you're right. How am I supposed to believe that you're like a sixty something year old alien? You're not three feet tall and green, tell me the damn truth, Brittany."

"That's a _stereotype_, Santana." Brittany snipped, her /own/ anger beginning to rise. "Just because you're a lesbian doesn't mean I walk around thinking you wear flannel, eat jicama and play golf."

"Where did you even come up with half of those stereotypes?" Santana was completely appalled by Brittany's words.

"Bad television, same place I'm pretty sure you got yours. I'm telling you the truth. We were encased in some kind of incubation chamber, and then in 2003, we came out and looked like we were six years old."

"We?" Santana gasped, and Brittany covered her mouth, internally cursing herself for getting into _deeper_ trouble.

"Sam and-"

"Quinn." Santana finished and Brittany simply nodded, playing with the strap of her bra and avoiding the other girl's eyes. "Fucking shit. I swear to God, if I'm on some episode of _Punk'd _right now, I'm going to fucking lose it."

"You're not." Brittany swore, starting to hold out her pinky, and then thinking better of it when she remembered the she was standing before the coolest girl in school, coolest girl in Roswell, maybe even the coolest girl on the entire planet, but she wasn't sure, since excepting whatever journey she'd taken, which she had absolutely no memory of, she'd never actually been outside of the small town.

"So you're some race of healing aliens from planet Vulcan or something? This isn't real, that bitch Kitty Wilde must have dropped me off the top of the pyramid at practice today. I never made it to the diner, I was never shot, this is all some kind of hallucination."

"Santana." Brittany reached out and touched her hand, causing Santana to jump at the contact, and the strange sparks she felt. "Your details are kind of off, but it's real. Trust me, it's real."

Santana Lopez wasn't the trusting type, she never had been, nor had her father before her, it was just par for the course of living in a town where everyone gossiped, and even being the oldest family (or maybe _especially_ being the oldest family) didn't grant you immunity. But she also had never been the _cover someone else's ass type, _and apparently she'd already done that for Brittany, so that was strange even barring the fact that the girl in front of her was allegedly some type of extra terrestrial. When she raised her eyes back up to meet Brittany's, when she saw the sincerity there, when she realized that the blonde girl had quite possibly risked _everything_ just to save her life, she once again found herself going completely out of character, and actually believing that she might actually be capable of trusting her.

"I really, really should have stayed home today." Santana pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling like everything had completely spiraled out of her control, and she was on the verge of some kind of complete breakdown that would probably end in padded walls and spoon feedings. "I need some help grasping this. I need you to tell me everything."

"I will." Brittany swore, not even feeling like she was making a wrong move. "I promise you, I'll tell you everything you want to know."


	2. Chapter 2-Reese's Pieces

**Author's Note: Wow, I can't even believe the response to this story! Thank you ****_all _****for your follows and favorites, and a huge thanks to LoneGambit, , chuckleshan, Lynniepops, h-g-j-l-e-r-k, AlabamaMiles, JJJ, my-other-ride-is-your-mum, maybesometime, broken-timemachine, Lauren H 91, A, brittana-is-wanky21, glee4ever123, Southgirl, M206, rg521, alamoSAuRus99, holip, JadeTheManatee and the Guests for your reviews! Also, an extra big thank you to all of you who shared this story on Tumblr! Things are going to take some time to build up and make sense, so I hope you'll all bear with me here!**

* * *

Wringing her hands, Brittany stared at Santana. It was still so much for her to take, the longtime object of her affections standing before her, _in her bedroom_, shirt still hitched up, waiting for answers. On the plus side, the girl hadn't run out screaming when Brittany had revealed the truth to her, but on the other, she didn't exactly look comfortable with the news either. Brittany had never known any different, she'd always known that aliens were real, _obviously_, but Santana had lived her entire life in a town where said creatures were a joke, a tourist trap, an incorrect visual emblazoned on t-shirts, mugs, the signs on nearly one-hundred percent of the stores in town, including the diner where she spent her afternoons and weekends actually _dressed_ as one of the presumed fictional figures.

"Brittany." Santana's voice broke the blonde from her thoughts, and she swallowed hard, still attempting to decipher how to continue. "Are you going to tell me, or what?"

"I am." She affirmed. "I'm just trying to figure out how to start. I haven't exactly done this before."

"How about you start with why you're here? And before you decide to play coy with me, I mean here on this planet, not here in your bedroom."

"I don't actually know the answer to that question." Brittany shook her head, averting her gaze from the look of disbelief in Santana's eyes. "I don't, really."

"Fine." Santana huffed. "What planet are you from then?"

"I don't...I don't know that answer either." Brittany shifted uncomfortably.

"Well what _do_ you know then?" Santana tried not to roll her eyes at the lack of explanation she was getting, but she'd come to the conclusion that her night was going to be even longer than her day had been.

"All I know is that at some point in the middle of the night on April 15th, 2003, Sam, Quinn and I crawled out of these pods, or something, and into the desert. Even after all this time, we've still only pieced together bits of what happened before that. I remember a purple lake, Sam remembers stars that he swears were a thousand times brighter than any we've ever seen here, even on the darkest night out in the desert, and Quinn, well, she says she doesn't remember things, just _feelings_."

"What kind of feelings?"

"They're not really mine to tell." Brittany sighed. As much as she fought with Quinn, as much as the other girl drove her to the point that she thought she was going to lose her mind, forcing her to behave like a recluse, never letting her or Sam have any type of fun, one of the strongest urges that Brittany ever felt in her life, human or otherwise, was to protect the third member of their little band of misfits.

"Why wasn't...?" Santana started, but then trailed off, pulling her bottom lip back in between her teeth, wondering if the unspoken question would be met with the same response as her last.

"Why wasn't Quinn found with Sam and me?" Brittany finished, and Santana gave a hesitant nod. "I remember holding her hand, and she didn't want to leave the place where we born, or hatched, or whatever it was that happened out there. But Sam, he saw lights, and he started walking toward them, and I couldn't just let him go out there alone."

"Okay." Santana nodded, wanting to ask so many more questions about Quinn, but the slightest shake of Brittany's head and the sadness that seemed to pass over her features when talking about it halted her curiosity. "So, the Pierces adopted you and Sam, and you've been living with them ever since, but they never figured out that you're...different?"

"We've had some close calls, but once we realized that other people, or, I guess, people in general, weren't like us, we knew that we had to hide it. And we've always been really careful."

"Until today." Santana pointed out, and Brittany felt the blush creep up her neck and color her cheeks. "Why, Brittany? Why did you risk everything, for me?"

"I couldn't just stand there and watch you die."

"People die all the time."

Brittany chose not to speak, and with the lull in conversation, the only sound in the room was that of Sam yelling at something in his game from the other side of the wall. The question Santana had asked wasn't one that Brittany was willing to answer, even if that was an answer that she clearly _did _have. She'd already revealed one of her deepest secrets to the girl, she _wouldn't _tell the other. Santana's eyes remained locked with Brittany's, desperately wanting to know, halfway believing that maybe the answer was the one she'd hoped to hear, that Brittany Pierce thought she, the smallest of small town girls, was something truly special, special beyond her name, or her cheerleading uniform, special to the very root of her soul, but she shook off the hope, instead breaking away from those piercing blue eyes and turning her attention back to the glowing mark on her abdomen.

"Okay what about how? How did you do it?" She asked, gesturing to her stomach, hoping _maybe_ that was a question that Brittany would actually be able to answer for her.

"I dissolved the bullet and repaired the tissue it damaged."

"So you all have this ability? To heal people, I mean."

"Yes and no. We can all alter molecular structure, I guess, but I've always been the only one who's been able to do any actual healing."

"You've healed before?" Santana looked at Brittany, feeling even more confused, and admittedly, slightly dejected that there were others like her.

"Not a person. I wasn't even sure I could do that, until you. My cat, Lord Tubbington, was mauled pretty bad by a raccoon once, and I took care of him, and there were a few birds that _he_ mauled, but that's it. Sam's tried, and I'm pretty sure Quinn has too, but with no luck."

"So only you can heal, but you all can move molecules, or whatever?" Santana had begun a mental list, realizing that with every scrap of information that Brittany revealed, she felt even more in the dark.

"Yes."

"How does that work, exactly?"

Brittany was never particularly good with words, especially when she fell under the scrutinizing gaze of a person, and _extra_-specially when said gaze was from the beautiful girl that she just so happened to be hopelessly in love with. Reaching past where Santana stood, accidentally (seriously, accidentally) brushing a bare tan shoulder with her wrist and eliciting shivers on both ends of the contact, Brittany grabbed the stuffed green alien plush that sat atop her desk. She didn't miss Santana's playful eye roll when she noticed what the blonde had picked up, and she also didn't miss the warmth that such a tiny gesture brought over her entire body. Slowly waving her right hand over figure, the figure turned the brightest shade of purple, and Santana's mouth dropped open.

"You're really not kidding." She mumbled, shaking away her scattered thoughts. "Holy shit."

"You still thought I was kidding?"

"I don't know what to think anymore." Santana sighed, bringing her fingers up to pinch her nose again. "None of this makes any sense."

"I've been living it for eleven years, and it still doesn't make any sense to me."

"So you're just stuck here? What about your home planet."

"This is the only planet I even really know at this point. There's been no crop circles, or bicycling over a moon, or any of that to tell me where I belong."

"Now who's stereotyping?" Santana took a chance and teased Brittany, for some strange reason (among all the other strange) feeling comfortable enough to do so.

"Well, I do like Reese's Pieces." Brittany joked back, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"And here I though that was just bad movie product placement. I keep guess I can stop telling my father to take them out of every dessert on our menu, now that I know it's authentic. So what else is authentic alien food, give me something to go to my father with to add to the menu."

"No, Santana!" Brittany's eyes widened, and she felt deep, dark fear clutch at her chest again. "You can't do that."

"I'm sorry!" Santana gasped out quickly, realizing immediately that she crossed the line from teasing into some other territory. "Brittany, I wouldn't. But I don't understand why, why you saved my life, and how anyone could ever possibly think that was a _bad_ thing?"

"You live in Roswell, you should know this. The rumors, I don't know if they're true or not, but there had to be others that helped get us here, since we obviously weren't capable of doing that on out own in whatever state of suspended animation we were in. Something had to have happened to them, and since no one has ever reached out and tried to find us, I can't imagine that whatever happened was a good thing." Brittany shuddered at the thought, shuddered at the thought of the images in the window of the UFO museum, the US Army securing the perimeters around the site of the crash, of beings like her getting spliced open on medical examination tables in some unknown facility. Real or not real, it was terrifying. "People are afraid of what they don't understand, Santana."

"I'm not afraid of you." Santana said suddenly, looking once again into Brittany's eyes. "I don't really understand you, or this, anything really, but I know somehow that you don't scare me. Sheriff Hummel came to the diner after you left."

"What did you tell him?" Brittany swallowed hard, trying to reconcile the fluttering in her chest at Santana telling her she wasn't afraid, and the suspicious hammering that followed at the mention of the sheriff.

"Someone told him that a girl came up to me, I told him that I didn't recognize you, and that you probably weren't from around here."

"You lied for me."

"Well, not totally. I mean, you're _not_ really from around here, are you?"

"No. I guess I'm not." The smallest of smiles played on Brittany's lips, and she reached out to Santana, tenderly pulling her shirt back down to cover her stomach.

"I don't think Hummel's a bad guy."

"Neither do I." Brittany admitted. "But like I said, people are afraid of what they don't know. And his father..."

"Is locked up in a New Mexico State hospital for spending his life chasing aliens." Santana finished, the realization of how personal this could get hitting her.

"Burt Hummel is the one who found us out there, and I'm pretty sure he's never stopped questioning why we were there in the first place. He was born into a family where chasing the unknown was normal."

Neither girl said anything, they were caught up in trying to understand the whole of it. It was Santana who's mind shifted to something different first. Call it hero worship, call it fascination, it didn't really matter what it was, Santana's eyes flicked down to Brittany's lips, and she considered them for a moment, considered the consequences of pressing her own lips to them (did consequences even matter anymore?). Some inexplicable pull drew Santana toward the blonde, and she didn't know how to stop herself, didn't even _want_ to stop herself.

Brittany noticed what she was doing, because really, for years, she had taken notice of every single thing that Santana did, and the thought of the other girl kissing her, taking control, throwing Brittany down on the bed and having her way with her, making every human fantasy that the girl who was _not_ human ever had both aroused her and completely terrified her. She felt the same pull, a pull that was different somehow than the possibility of having her fantasies fulfilled, but years of carefully practiced self control let her break free of it. As Santana took a step forward, Brittany bit her lip and took a step back, using every last ounce of self control that she possessed.

"Santana." She scolded gently. "We can't."

"Why?" Hurt flashed in Santana's eyes as her pride was marred, and she played with the hem of her shirt, wanting to pretend that being rejected by Brittany was no big deal, but failing miserably.

"It's not safe."

"I was shot today, and _kissing _you isn't safe?"

"None of it is safe. But kissing me, getting involved with me, that's probably the most dangerous thing there is, for both of us."

"Fine." Santana huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "So then what are we supposed to do now?"

"Nothing. We go back to normal. We pretend that today never happened, we pretend that a gun went off in the diner, you broke a bottle, and I was never there, just like you told everyone else."

"How am I supposed to do that, Brittany? How am I supposed to pretend that you're not the reason I'm even living and breathing?"

"I don't know. All I know is that there's no other way. I saved you, because I couldn't stand the idea of you being hurt, and if we don't do things this way, you're at risk, and I don't want that to happen."

"Okay then." Santana squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from Brittany, moving back toward the window.

"Thank you." Brittany whispered.

"I think I should be the one saying that to you."

"Nothing to thank me for." She shrugged, immediately starting the ruse they would enact. "But Santana?"

"Yeah?" Santana turned back around, and couldn't help but take one last look into Brittany's blue eyes. "If it's any consolation, if things were different, I totally would have let you kiss me."

"It's not." She snorted, the rejection still stinging. "Bye, Brittany. See you around."

* * *

When Santana left, Brittany closed and locked the window behind her and stood watching her walk down the stone pathway and out of the yard, fading out of sight as she made her way down the brightly lit street. With a deep sigh, she collapsed back onto her bed. Talk about having everything she ever wanted in her grasp and letting it disappear just as quickly as it came. It was for the best, she _knew_ it was for the best, but I didn't mean that the hurt in Santana's eyes burned Brittany any less. It was too dangerous, whether she knew exactly how or not, Brittany was unwilling to put anyone else at risk, _especially_ her. Closing her eyes again, Brittany tried to forget the buzz that coursed through her body when Santana had touched her, the crackling anticipation in the split second between when Santana had leaned into kiss her, and when Brittany had made the decision to stop her, even the oddly possessive feeling that she got seeing Santana bearing the mark that she'd been saved. But feelings couldn't matter, not for Brittany, not with Quinn breathing down her neck, not with the sheriff asking questions about what happened in the diner, not with the fate of her entire existence resting on _not_ showing said feelings.

"So you told her." Quinn's voice snapped Brittany from her thoughts, and she jerked upright in bed. Apparently, she'd been so deep in trying _not_ to think, that she'd missed the telltale noise of Quinn popping the lock on the window and climbing inside. Clearly, that window was getting a lot of action (_much more than I am_, Brittany thought sourly) and Brittany was never going to get any sleep.

"You were spying on me." Brittany shot back. "I told you that I was telling her the truth, and I did."

"Yeah, you told me you were, I just didn't think you'd actually do it." Brittany could hear the sound of Quinn's teeth gritting, and when she looked down, there was a duffel bag between Quinn's feet. "I hope you packed your bags. Doesn't look like your news was met with a parade of rainbows and unicorns that you expected, huh Brittany?"

"You talk about acting normal and blending in, and yet you show not _one_ scrap of human emotion. Ever. Why don't you talk _to_ me instead of talking _at_ me?"

"Newsflash, we're not human. Look what_ happens_ when you show human emotion!" Quinn hissed, stiffening her spine as she stared down Brittany.

"Stop talking to me like that!" Brittany demanded, clenching her fists at her sides. She wasn't the type to get angry, she was pretty sure that somehow Quinn had gotten all of her share and more, but she was still reeling from the events of the day, and Quinn's constant need to condescend to her was causing that mostly unfamiliar feeling to spark.

Sam chose that exact moment to knock on the door, probably having heard the commotion through the wall, and Brittany called out for him to come in. Even if Sam definitely didn't agree with what she'd put at risk, and told her as much, at least he'd be on her side about how unnecessary it was for Quinn to constantly put her down. When he entered the room, he looked between the two girls and sighed, knowing that he'd walked in on round four-thousand-six-hundred-seventy-nine of angry Quinn versus frustrated Brittany.

"What happened now?" He asked, knowing immediately upon the words leaving his mouth that it was actually a stupid question.

"She told Santana the truth."

"And what happened?"

"I was getting to that part before Quinn decided that she already knew what happened and wouldn't let me speak."

"Please, Brittany. I'm sure she told you she wasn't going to say anything, and you got all mooney over her. _Oh, Santana, you're so perfect and wonderful and I'll believe anything that passes through those beautiful lips of yours_." Quinn mimicked. "And then she'll go home, realize that she's sitting on a goddamn gold mine of information, and then we are done for. How many times have we agreed, trust no one?"

"Life is not a science fiction movie." Brittany said, then a smile played involuntarily on her lips, thinking of her conversation with Santana. "And we never agreed, you made the decision, and no one wanted to even discuss it with you, because you throw tantrums whenever you don't get your way."

"You think everyone is trustworthy. Wasn't it just last year that you wanted to tell Susan and Evan?"

"Actually, she didn't." Sam defended. "All she said was that she_ wished_ we could tell mom and dad, and you jumped down her throat."

"Because it's-"

"Let her tell us what actually happened." Sam cut her off, and Brittany gave her brother a small, grateful smile.

Choosing her words carefully, Brittany told them about Santana coming in and showing her the handprint, the mark that she'd forgotten in the heat of the moment that her actions would leave, and their subsequent conversation. The thing was though, it was impossible to describe the sincerity in the girl's eyes, or the strange sort of connection she felt, a connection that had nothing to do with her distant affections for Santana Lopez. Brittany knew, undoubtedly, that the trust she'd placed in the girl she'd saved would never be broken. But even if she told Quinn as much, even if she told Quinn about the almost-kiss (which she wouldn't, because there were some things she wanted to keep for herself, and Santana looking at her with affection, Santana not seeing her as the freak she usually felt like were among those things), Quinn would call her a dreamer, and a fool. Sam would understand her on a different level, he always had, but she'd done enough putting him in the middle for one day.

"Why was Hummel so interested in who came up to her after the gun went off?" Sam asked, picking up the purple stuffed alien on the desk and shooting Brittany a quizzical look.

"I don't know ." Brittany confessed, and chose to ignore the look on Quinn's face. "You know he makes me nervous. And you know if he knew it was me..."

"Well-" Quinn opened her mouth to speak, and Sam raised his hand to her with a shake of his head.

"He's got nothing to go on, there are no cameras in the diner, and no one got hurt. As long as Santana isn't going to say anything, we just lay low, and soon enough, everyone will forget about it."

"That's a big _if _you're betting on, Sam."

"She's not going to say anything." Brittany said quietly, the energy to fight basically sapped from her. "I know she's not."

"I'm watching her, and I'm watching Hummel too, just in case." Quinn glared at Brittany, daring her to challenge that, but she simply nodded, knowing whether she agreed or not, Quinn would still do it.

"Are you staying over?" Brittany asked, because even when Quinn was a bitch (which was 99.9% of the time), she still would never not offer her an out from the drunken rantings of her foster mother Judy Fabray.

"Nope. If we're not skipping town, I'm going to enjoy the fact that Judy's at one of her Bible retreats, and I'll have the place to myself." Her voice was less harsh than it had been all day, more likely than not at the possibility of not having to deal with the woman who kept her around for booze money. "I'll fill you in on what I find out tomorrow."

"Be careful, Quinn." Sam warned. "The last thing we need is for you to get caught breaking in somewhere."

"Right, the last thing..." She trailed off, throwing her bag back over her shoulder and climbing out the window, not even turning around as she did.

"Britt." Sam started, and she shook her head.

"I've been yelled at enough for one lifetime today, I know you agree with Quinn, and I really do appreciate you not shoving that in my face in front of her, but I can't deal with any more tonight."

"I'm not saying anything else, I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Not really." Brittany ran her fingers through blonde hair, and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, knowing if she didn't, she'd end up giving an involuntary pout.

"She didn't react as well as you're pretending, did she?"

"No Sam, that's the problem. She reacted _so_ much better."

* * *

Santana somehow managed to make it through half of the next day of school without her thoughts being entirely consumed by Brittany Pierce (if she had two thoughts that weren't about her, that counts as not being entirely consumed, right?). She just couldn't understand what had transpired the night before, Brittany saved her life, Brittany confessed that she was one of the goddamn Roswell aliens, Brittany joked around with her, and after Santana had tried to kiss her, Brittany had said that they couldn't, even if she wanted to. The entire thing had frustrated Santana to no end, and all she wanted to do was do what she'd been asked and forget the entire thing ever happened. Of course, she'd be about five seconds from doing that, and her hand would, if it's own volition, slip under her Cheerios top and fall to rest on the handprint, on _Brittany's _handprint. Santana swore that it heated up every time she thought of the blonde's catlike eyes, her perfect teeth, the laugh that she was sure didn't happen enough (how could it, if she spent all her time with Quinn Fabitch?) but she tried to chalk all that up to her imagination.

Her fruitless efforts were completely stalled as she was walking down the hall to English class (Brittany was in that class, how could she pretend everything was normal when the blonde sat two rows ahead of her?) and Mercedes grabbed her roughly by the arm. Had it been anyone else, Santana would have jerked away and told then to go fuck themselves, but it was her best friend, her best friend who she'd been actively avoiding, and sighing deeply, she followed Mercedes into the janitor's closet.

"I always knew you wanted to get me in here." Santana snarked. "Sorry though, you're not really my type Ce."

"Shut up, Lopez. You know damn well why we are in here."

"If this is still about the _nothing_ that happened in the diner yesterday, I'm out of here. I have English."

"Oh right, I forgot, wouldn't want to be late. Your girlfriend is in that class."

"She's not my _girlfriend_." Santana spit, her eyes widening as Mercedes reached into her bag and pulled out an order pad. There, speckling the white paper was blood, _Santana's_ blood. She swallowed hard, panic once again rising in her chest.

"You still want to tell me that nothing happened? Do you still want to tell me that you spilled ketchup?"

"I..." Santana was, for possibly the first time in her life, at a loss for words. There, right in front of her, was hard and fast evidence that something had actually happened. Blindly reaching out to snatch the pad, Mercedes whipped it away from her, features hard as her eyes bored into Santana.

"I _knew_ it. I knew that you were shot. And I know that Brittany did something to you. I don't know what it was, and I don't know why you're covering it up, but you're going to tell me."

"Mercedes Whitney Jones, I don't know what you're playing at, but I don't like your threatening tone."

"And I don't like that you're playing me for a fool. When have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"

"It's not about trust. God, you don't understand." Santana's desperation was apparent, but Mercedes wasn't having it.

"Make me understand then. Make me understand how the hell your blood got all over my order pad. Make me understand what the hell happened to you and why you're lying to your best friend for someone you've hardly ever exchanged words with."

"I can't." Santana's voice was hardly above a whisper, so torn between the world she's always known and the world she'd been asked to pretend didn't exist. "Please just trust me when I tell you that everything is fine."

"Trust works both ways."

"I trust you, I do, Mercedes."

"Obviously not enough." The anger in Mercedes voice faded to hurt, and she turned to walk away as Santana grabbed her arm.

"It's not my thing to tell."

"So there _is_ a thing."

"Yes. No. I don't even know anymore. Can't you please just let it go?"

"No, I don't think I can. Whatever is going on, this isn't you, and I don't like it."

"So what, what are you going to do?" Santana crossed her arms across her chest in a defensive position and mustered every ounce of fight in her body to stare down Mercedes.

"Maybe I'll talk to someone who will actually listen to me."

"You wouldn't."

"You think I'm not caught up in whatever this is too? That when Sheriff Hummel asked me after you left if _I_ knew the girl who went up to you? I covered your ass, Santana, for whatever reason it is that you lied to him. That makes me a damn good friend."

"I'm not saying you're not."

"Maybe not with words, but the way you're acting is saying something different."

"I asked you for time."

"Yeah, well that was before I saw this." She shook the order pad again, the only type of leverage Mercedes seemed to have in the situation, and she didn't back down from Santana's challenging stance.

"Twenty-four-hours. Please, I'll cover any shifts you want at the diner for the next year, I'll do your goddamn Spanish homework until we graduate. I am _begging_ you right now for just a little bit more time before you turn on me. And you know I don't beg." Santana pleaded, unwilling to give up Brittany's secret without permission, even if she knew Mercedes would never reveal it if she just knew the truth, even if telling would be to keep Brittany safer.

"Before I_ turn_ on you? Who even are you right now?" Mercedes stared horror struck, wondering if _she _had already gotten herself in too deep, wondering if it was drugs, or the Mob, or some kind of Satanic cult (oh God, the irony after years of calling her best friend _Satan_), but even those things couldn't explain how Santana's blood, the dark kind, from a mortal wound, was on her order pad, and yet she was standing there, right as rain. "Fine, you've got one day, and then I'm doing whatever it takes to protect my ass, and probably yours too."

"Fine." Santana agreed, hoping that she wasn't making the stupidest mistake of her life.

Still visibly shaken from her encounter with Mercedes, Santana made her way into English class, mumbling some pathetic excuse to the teacher and taking her seat. She desperately needed to talk to Brittany, even though it had been less than eighteen hours since agreeing to do precisely_ not _that. Unsure how to do it without knowing the girl's phone number, or much more about her than the single most important thing, and afraid to wait until after dark, when she could climb back through her window, Santana resorted to doing things the old fashioned way, she wrote a note. Pretending to make her way to the back of the room to sharpen a pencil, Santana discreetly set the folded paper down on top of Brittany's florescent pink notebook, another shiver passing through her body, and a flicker of heat flaring in her abdomen as she accidentally brushed Brittany's arm with her finger tips while doing so.

Brittany noticed that Santana came into class late, of _course_ she noticed, and she'd frowned in spite of herself at the distraught look on the other girl's face when she'd chanced a look at her. When she watched Santana stand again a few moments later, she figured she'd just get a nice view of her ass in that skirt (nothing wrong with checking out the merchandise, even if you're absolutely forbidden from buying), but she was shocked to see Santana slip the smallest scrap of paper in front of her, and she was even more shocked when she glanced up at the front of the room, and then took a chance opening it. _Meet me in the janitor's closet, 6th period. It's important._ Underneath, she'd hastily scrawled something else, the writing much smaller than the rest. _Reese's Pieces_. Swallowing hard, Brittany almost smiled at the use of code, but then remembered that passing notes in class, sneaking off into the janitor's closet, and especially discussing what had transpired the night before was exactly the opposite of how they'd agreed to proceed. Rereading the note, Brittany felt another wave of panic come over her; _It's important_. What if Sheriff Hummel had asked her more questions? What if Santana had cracked under the pressure? Half expecting men in black suits to come rushing in, Brittany breathed a small sigh of relief when all seemed quiet.

* * *

"You came." Santana was half-surprised when Brittany opened the door to the janitor's closet ten minutes after sixth period had started, then turned the lock behind her. "Thanks."

"Well, it's my lunch, so...at least I wasn't cutting class or anything."

"I know. If it wasn't important, I wouldn't have asked you to come." Awkwardly, Santana dug through her bag, and upon closing her hand around the orange package, slowly slipped it out and handed it to Brittany. "In case you were hungry...or whatever."

"Thanks." Brittany felt her cheeks color at the small gesture, and she wished she could manipulate the molecular structure of her _face_ so Santana wouldn't see the obvious effect she had on her. "So what's going on? Meeting in janitor's closets isn't exactly the normal behavior that we talked about."

"I know." Santana looked down, avoiding the burning gaze of blue eyes. Not an angry gaze, but what it was, she couldn't exactly place. "I think we might have a little problem with this whole normal thing."

"Santana-"

"Brittany, can I just talk for a second?" She knew that if Brittany started talking, she'd get all tripped up, and her fragile attempt at remaining calm after her meeting in the same janitor's closet hours early would shatter. Brittany simply nodded and Santana took a deep, desperate breath. "The problem with pretending like nothing happened, is that it actually_ did_, and I don't think either of us thought about the fact that blood spatters."

"I cleaned up." Brittany said quickly, mentally checking down the floor, the side of the counter, Santana's dress, which even in her haste, she'd brushed her hand over on the way out of the diner.

"I thought so too. I thought there would be blood on my dress, but when I took it off, there was nothing there. Then Mercedes showed me her order pad."

"Fuck." Brittany hissed through gritted teeth. She wasn't one for profanity, but there was seriously no other way to release her frustration at herself, and her absolute fear that while she knew in her bones that she could trust Santana not to turn her in, telling the girl she'd known since birth was a different story, and she didn't know Mercedes from Adam (though she wasn't exactly sure what that expression meant, what Adam had to do with anything, or who Adam even was).

"I didn't tell her anything." Santana said quickly.

"Thank you." Brittany breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's not that simple, Brittany. I tried, I swear, I kept trying to tell her it was nothing, but she was staring down at my blood, blood that obviously didn't come from a paper cut, and she knows I lied to the sheriff."

"I'll take care of it." The blonde tried to sound more confident then she felt, but Santana saw right through it.

"There's more. Sheriff Hummel talked to her again after I left. He's really interested in who the mysterious girl in the diner was."

"Quinn was right." Brittany started, and Santana involuntarily shivered. Brittany was all but admitting that she should have just let her die. "No, no, no. I don't mean it like that. I would save your life again if it came to it. I mean she was right that this was going to end up being completely beyond my control."

The two of them stood across from each other, neither saying a word, so similar to the night before in Brittany's room. Santana had an idea, but she wasn't sure that Brittany would even want to hear it, and she was more than sure, even without knowing a thing about Quinn Fabray beyond the tiny details Brittany had told her, that the other blonde would most definitely _not_ be okay with it, and that she'd probably kill Santana herself for even thinking it. Sam was a wild card, she knew _nothing_ about him, besides the fact that he had ridiculously large lips and spend most of his time staring at Mercedes.

"We could-"

"No." Brittany cut Santana off before she could even finish the sentence, knowing exactly what the other girl was going to say.

"Just hear me out."

"I wasn't even supposed to tell _you_. I wasn't supposed to tell _anyone_. The more people that know, the more dangerous it is for all of us."

"I told her I needed twenty-four hours and then I'd give her answers."

"You shouldn't make promises that you can't keep. It's not your secret to tell."

"You think I don't know that?" Santana slammed her hands against the chemical counter that she was leaning against. "If it were, I would have told her when she dragged my ass in here earlier today. But I'm not going to betray you, I don't understand what you did to me, Brittany, but it was more than just healing a gunshot wound. I feel like pretending it never happened or not, I'm tied to you now, by something I don't even understand, and all I want to do is keep _you_ safe."

"I've already told you what would keep me safe."

"And that's not going to work any more. She's going to go to Hummel if we don't tell her something, and I'm not going to be able to stop her."

"This is your rationale for why we _should_ tell her? That she'll turn us in if we don't? That makes you think she's trustworthy?"

"Yes!" Santana was growing increasingly frustrated, because she couldn't force her words to make any sense. "I know her, Brittany. I know her better than I know anyone else. If she just could understand what's at stake, she'd be on your side. She cares about me, and she thinks I'm involved with something dangerous."

"Well that's exactly the problem here, isn't it?" Brittany looked away sadly.

"You're not the dangerous one." Santana said quietly. "You're obviously not if you risked everything just so I could be standing here right now."

"I didn't have a choice." She murmured back, even quieter than Santana had been, rational thought unable to halt the confession about to escape from her lips, somehow understanding the inexplicable tether that Santana had spoke about. "Not when it was you."


	3. Chapter 3-Alien Alliance

**Author's Note: Thank you guys **_**all **_**so much for your reviews! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated, I've just been drowning in all kinds of Brittana feels, fansliding, and drowning a little more. How about all of that magic, huh? **

**I'll try not to make you all wait so long for the next update :)**

* * *

Immediately upon speaking those words, Brittany pulled her lips into her mouth, biting down hard with her front teeth. Being around Santana made her feel like she was living in some kind of alternate universe, a universe where instead of carefully measuring every word she spoke, her every thought bubbled out of her mouth. She had the sneaking suspicion that if she continued to exist on that alternate plane, it wouldn't be long before she was spilling that sometimes she didn't understand what people were talking about because she was so likely to mix up words, or that on occasion, she found herself confusing Mercedes Jones for the transgendered kid in her European History class (and she really didn't mean it to be offensive, yet another reason why she didn't speak often, her mind just raced so fast that a lot got jumbled). At the thought of Mercedes, Brittany's eyes snapped back up to meet Santana's. She _did_ trust Santana, she trusted her when she said that the other girl could be trusted, but she know that she _couldn__'__t_ let another person in. Just letting Santana in had tilted the world on it's axis, and she was _definitely_ sure that wasn't one of her powers.

"You feel it too." Santana murmured. "I'm not crazy."

"I do." Brittany confirmed, because she couldn't lie to her, especially not when she was questioning her sanity on one thing Brittany knew wholeheartedly. "You're not."

"I don't understand it Brittany. I just don't understand why I've had exactly four conversations with you in my entire life, this one included, and yet I feel like I _know _you. I mean, I wasn't even sure you liked girls until like, yesterday, when you said...you know, but Mercedes kept saying you were always checking me out, and...ugh. Mercedes."

"Yeah." Brittany said quietly, _Mercedes_, Brittany couldn't let herself get distracted by feelings and strange magnetic pulls. This was exactly the reason that she couldn't get involved with Santana. Her mind got too cloudy, and God, thinking about wanting to kiss her and touch her and have tiny little half human-half alien babies with her was keeping her from the task at hand. "Let me figure it out."

"No." Santana put her hands on her hips, feeling like all she'd been doing in the nineteen-hours and four minutes since she's been shot was argue. Argue with Mercedes, argue with Brittany, and most of all, argue with herself. "Whether or not you want me involved, you don't get to decide anymore. I'm vested in this, this is all happening because you chose to save me, and now I'm choosing to help keep _you_ safe."

"Santana." Brittany tried, and then watched a dark eyebrow raise in challenge. "Quinn is not going to like this."

"Does Quinn like anything? Because you three come into the diner at least four afternoons a week, and I've never seen her do anything but glower and put an obscene amount of hot sauce on sweet potato fries, which, by the way, is disgusting. At least_ you_ put it on _regular_ fries."

"Umm." While trying to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest at the fact that Santana noticed how she ate her French fries, even before she'd saved her life (_cool it, Britt, she noticed Quinn too_, she'd reprimanded herself), she attempted to think of something to say, but really, there was nothing that came to her mind besides _yelling at Brittany, telling Sam to grow up_, and _blowing up cacti in the desert to let off steam_, none of which she figured Santana would like to hear.

"That's what I thought. I'm all in. Even if you say we can't kiss, or figure out what this pull is between us, I'm a part of this now, the first human member of your Alien Alliance."

"You say that like it's a club you can just join."

"I didn't join, I was initiated." Brittany caught the teasing lilt in Santana's voice, and the way her hand moved, possibly subconsciously, to her clothed stomach.

"The way you're talking about this doesn't sound like I have much of a choice."

"I can be very persuasive." Santana chanced a wink, coaxing small laugh, covered by a glare, from Brittany. "Look, I've lived in this town forever, I'm influential because of my name, and it was Hummel who drove my mom to the hospital when I was born because my dad was out of town at a pickle convention, or something. I was born knowing the ridiculous politics of this place, and the minute I grew boobs, I learned how to fly under the radar of them when I need to. I'm pretty useful."

"Fine. But if things get dangerous, I want you as far from any of this as humanly possible."

"Nice choice of words."

"Not a joke."

"So we're going to figure out what to do about Mercedes together?"

"Seems like it." Brittany sighed, butterflies erupting in her stomach both in terrified anticipation and in excitement that Santana Lopez actually wanted to be involved in this _thing _that made her feel like such a freak and an outcast. "Not here though. We still have to pretend to be normal, Santana, and I really need to have Sam and Quinn involved too. This effects all of us. You need to go to cheerleading, and I'll pick you up with them after, okay?"

"With Sam and Quinn?" Santana stumbled a little bit over her words, and tried not to show her anxiety about that to Brittany.

"Alien Alliance, remember?" Brittany teased just slightly, but kept her face serious. If Santana really wanted to be involved, it had to be with all three of them, not just her. Her brother and her, well, her Quinn, wouldn't really accept it any other way (if they accepted it at all).

"Right. Okay."

* * *

After two grueling hours of cheerleading practice under the tyranny of Coach Roz Washington, Santana was still a bundle of nerves as she waited for everyone to leave the locker room so she could shower without anyone looking at her body (she knew she was hot, and she always felt the glances of the other Cheerios who were wont to experiment). By the time she'd finished and threw up a pair of denim shorts that made her ass look _fantastic_ and a top slightly longer than what she'd normally wear, careful to cover up the slowly fading mark on her skin (which, admittedly, she was strangely sad about), she had only a half hour until Brittany was supposed to be picking her up at school. Part of her thought maybe she was a complete fool for wanting to be a part of this, not because she didn't trust Brittany implicitly, but because knowing that Sam Pierce and Quinn Fabray could probably kill her with a single glance absolutely terrified her. But the stronger part knew she was safe with Brittany, knew somehow that she'd do whatever it took to protect her, even if it was from Sam and Quinn. At 5:30, she was standing outside the school, one hand clasping tightly to her phone, counting both the hours since she'd been shot and the number she had left to give Mercedes answers, while the other was stuck in her back pocket. Her heart leapt for two entirely different reasons when a silver Prius pulled up, and Brittany rolled down the window from the backseat.

"Are you ready?" She asked, and Santana offered her a hesitant smile before climbing in beside her.

"Hi." She mumbled to Brittany, then darted her eyes to the front seat where Sam was in the driver's seat and Quinn sat beside him putting on eyeliner. "Uh, hi."

"Hey." Sam offered, not sounding all that terrifying, but Quinn didn't say a word, and Santana found herself swallowing hard as she received a glare in the rear view mirror.

"Thanks for picking me up."

"As if we had a choice." Quinn muttered angrily, and Brittany slapped the back of her head rest. "Just drive, Sam."

The car ride to the destination that was unknown to Santana was awkwardly silent, with the exception of some eighties rock playing over the radio. Brittany kept offering Santana small smiles, and she latched onto them, trying to let the other girl's presence calm her in the midst of icy glares from the passenger seat and frantic steering wheel tapping from the driver's side. As they drove deep into the desert, Santana could hear her own blood rushing in her ears. Finally, they reached a vast expanse of emptiness, and she squinted her eyes, wondering if there was something she was missing.

"What, are you expecting a ship or something?" Quinn snarked. "We're just going to do this on our turf, away from the town where you reign."

"Um. Okay." Santana's voice cracked, nerves getting the best of her.

"_I'm sorry._" Brittany mouthed to her, and Santana gave a tentative smile.

Getting out of the car, Santana uncomfortably shifted her weight between feet, and Brittany immediately stood at her side, directly across from where Sam and Quinn stood. The gesture meant more to Santana than she could comprehend, and her fingers itched to reach out and take Brittany's hand. It was yet another thing she didn't understand, physical contact (well, _that _kind of affectionate physical contact) wasn't really something she did, but her whole being ached for closeness with the blonde. Knowing that she couldn't do what she wanted, she instead settled for placing a hand on her hip, letting just the very tips of her fingers land where she knew the mark blazed.

"So tell me, Lopez." Quinn hissed, and Santana really, really hoped that she didn't have some sort of alien venom in her voice that could kill her on the spot. "Why are we supposed to trust you?"

"Quinn-"

"Nope, Brittany. You've had your turn, now I get mine. Fair is fair, right? You want me to trust her, I need to hear the words from her mouth."

"Because Brittany saved me." Santana lowered her eyes, unable to look at the seemingly unearthly glow that radiated from Quinn's in the waning sunlight, especially when there was more she wouldn't say. "I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt her."

"And us? I think you're forgetting that in all of this stupidity, my idiot friend, sister, whatever, gave you all the ammunition you need to take me and Sam down with three little words."

"I don't know why you hate me so much. Or why you think I hate you."

"Psht." Quinn spit, but didn't elaborate on what exactly that sound meant.

"Look, I don't know you. I don't really know _any_ of you." She chanced a glance at Brittany, that one look saying how desperately she _wanted_ to know her. "And maybe I act like a bitch sometimes, but I've never done anything to you, and I don't see what I'd even have to gain by revealing your secret."

"How about a one way ticket out of this cow town?" Quinn cocked an eyebrow. "That's all you want, isn't it _Santana_? I way to escape from your boring, pathetic little life? You think you're keeping your big city dreams under wraps, wouldn't want to upset daddy dearest with the fact that you don't want to run his shitty diner when he croaks, but I know it's what you want. I'm sure people would pay big money for information about alien freaks. Could buy yourself a nice little apartment in New York and never look back."

"Do you really think I would stoop so low for _money_?" Santana gaped.

"Like you said, you don't know me, and I don't know you. Besides what I've gathered in twenty-four hours of research."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should research a little better." Anger boiled under Santana's skin. What if Quinn had convinced_ Brittany_ to think those things? She wasn't sure she could stand the taller blonde looking at her,_ judging_ her like that. With fury hot, she turned back to the car, ripping the back door open and leaning in.

"You want to know you can trust her and then you tell her that you're stalking her." Brittany stomped her feet, the moment Santana was out of earshot. "Trust works both ways, Quinn."

"Oh yeah, trust. That's why her browser history showed nineteen different searches on the '47 crash, and twenty-eight on _you_?"

"You broke into her _house_?"

"Quinn!" Sam gasped. "How is that being careful?"

"You two are unbelievable!" She turned away from them and stalked further out into the desert, blowing a cactus to bits in the process. "_I'm _the one who's not being careful."

"I just...I couldn't sleep." Santana said quietly, having come back with a turquoise bundle in her hands. "I needed to know more. Brittany, I swear, I just, I only know things about the crash that I've overheard in the diner, I never really thought about it before, and what I saw online, it's horrifying."

"Oh." Brittany was hurt, assuming Santana meant the rumors about mass carnage of U.S soldiers out at the site, the site not three miles from where they stood. "We aren't...I'm not."

"No, _no_." Santana took a step closer to Brittany and put a soft hand on her arm, eliciting yet another jolt between the two of them. The sensation caused Brittany to look up, and where she once again expected to see fear and disgust, she saw this strange compassion and sadness. "People, they're afraid of what they don't know. I understand why Quinn doesn't want to trust me. What I saw, whether any of it is true of not, is that there obviously wasn't any _alien invasion_, there were a few against an entire army, and /people/ are the ones who should be feared for what they did. I-I'm sorry."

"For what?" Brittany's voice was hushed, intimate almost, and Sam felt like he had to look away. A part of him immediately felt a burning desire to experience what the two of them were sharing, and against all he'd learned to believe, his own connection with his sister drew him into that circle of trust.

"I don't know. Just, for being a part of a race so cruel."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. You can't judge an entire people based on the reactions of a few."

"I wanted to give you this." Santana thrust the bundle into Brittany's hands. "There's a bullet hole in my dress. I want you to destroy it. I want to get the order pad for you too. I just, I swear I'll do anything I have to do to get it from Mercedes."

"What's that?" Quinn stomped back over to where the others were standing, interrupting what Brittany was going to say.

"Her uniform." Brittany didn't look up from where she stared down at the dress, her pointer finger poking through the hole as a shiver ran down her spine, thinking about how close Santana really had come to dying.

"What, now you're going to go dress up as an alien and work at the diner? Can't stay away from your girlfriend for five minutes?" Quinn rolled her eyes.

"God, you really are a huge bitch." Santana snapped, not even acting that the girl could destroy her with one glance. She'd spent less than an hour with Quinn Fabray, and she already couldn't stand the way every word that came out of her mouth was an attack. Maybe if it was just on her, she could have handled it, but the way she spoke to Brittany, this girl who _obviously _cared about her, it just wasn't okay in Santana's book.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I gave Brittany the uniform with the fucking bullet hole in it so it could be destroyed. I thought maybe it would help prove that I could be trusted, since if I really wanted to go to Hummel, I wouldn't _willingly hand over the only evidence I had that something happened _to you. But no, you take it as an opportunity to say something bitchy to Brittany. I want you to trust me, but I'll be damned if I just let you talk like that to her, or to me."

"Shit." Sam breathed to Brittany, who just nodded as she watched Santana with rapt attention, admittedly, a little turned on as the other girl stepped closer to Quinn with absolutely no fear.

"Just because _Brittany _decided to bring you into this, which, by the way, I'm completely against, but once again, she and Sam have no regard for _me, _doesn't mean I'm one of your cheerleaders and you can tell me what to do."

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm trying to _help, _and trying to show you that I can be trusted, but you're just being really aggressive for no apparent reason."

"Because it's all your fault this is happening!" Quinn erupted, raising a hand to Santana, which Brittany stepped in front of in a flash as Sam grabbed Quinn's arm.

"Stop it right now!" Brittany shouted, turning away from Quinn, once Sam had her under control. Santana was shaking a little bit, but trying very, very hard not to let it show. Once Brittany's eyes met hers, she visibly relaxed, and exhaled sharply.

For a few moments, no one moved. Sam held Quinn tightly by the arm, but even _her _features had softened, realizing what she'd done. She had no intention of using her _powers _against Santana, she just raised her hand in basic _human_ instinct, ironically, to slap someone she felt threatened by. Of course, as soon as she'd done it, she recognized what it would have been perceived as not only by Santana, but by Brittany and Sam as well, and she realized the gravity of her mistake. Cautiously, she watched Brittany, who was staring at Santana with eyes full of concern, and Santana just shook her head nearly imperceptibly, a gesture that Quinn couldn't quite decipher the meaning of.

"I-" Quinn started.

"No." Brittany nearly growled. "You crossed a line. What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Sam, get her away from us. Right now."

Without force, Quinn followed Sam away from the other two girls, and she looked back over her shoulder, meeting Brittany's angry eyes as one of the taller blonde's hands tentatively touched Santana's forearm.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She murmured, and Santana kept her eyes cast down to the sand below her feet.

"It's not your fault."

"It is though. She's angry with me all of the time, and you're just one more person she can take that out on."

"I shouldn't have antagonized her. I just don't like how she talks to you, and..." Santana trailed off, shaking her head.

"I understand if you changed your mind about being a part of this."

"No!" Santana shouted, surprised by her own outburst. "I want to. I do. I didn't realize what I was getting myself into with Quinn, but I trust you to keep me safe. And Sam too. I've never seen anyone move as fast as you both did."

Neither said anything for a long while. When Brittany finally took her eyes of off Santana, she looked out to where Sam and Quinn were, about a hundred yards out in the desert. Quinn's hands were balled into fists at her sides, and Sam was kicking the the ground. Their words were unclear, but it was obvious that Sam was yelling, and Brittany knew she had never seen Quinn look so _defeated_, like almost attacking Santana had caused some type of remorse to hit her. When Sam looked over at Brittany, she nodded at him, and he finished whatever he was saying and began walking back towards them. Quinn followed several feet behind him, never looking up from the string on her shirt that she worried between her fingers.

"Are you okay, Santana?" Sam asked, genuine concern evident on his face putting Santana further at ease.

"Yeah." She choked out, looking in Quinn's direction. "I'm good."

"Are you in control of yourself, Quinn?" Venom colored Brittany's words.

"I wasn't going to _do_ anything to her. I was just angry, and I really don't like her."

"The feeling's mutual, Fabitch. But only one of us can explode the other with a nose twitch."

"Apparently, she was just going to slap you." Sam explained, and Santana quirked an eyebrow in borderline disbelief.

"I'm sorry." Quinn muttered, and both Brittany and Sam gasped, having never heard those words pass through her lips. "Whatever, I'm not going to make out with her, okay? You're not really my type, Lopez, and Brittany would probably explode _me _if I did anyway."

"Can we maybe stop talking about exploding now?" Santana shivered, but couldn't help feeling a little better that Quinn seemed to be _joking_ with her or something. "Listen, I still stand by what I said that you can trust me."

"I kind of figured that when you didn't run away screaming." Quinn sniped, the brief softness gone from her voice.

"Well, two out of three of you protecting me seemed like decent odds."

"This doesn't mean we're going to be friends. This is a strategical alliance, exclusively."

"As head cheerleader, I'm well aware of those. And trust me, I wouldn't be friends with you if you were the last alien on earth." Santana snorted.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page then." Quinn rolled her eyes.

Brittany and Sam watched in utter shock at the exchange between Quinn and Santana. The lack of bite in Quinn's words startled them, and truth me told, given the events of the previous fifteen minutes, even _Brittany _was shocked that Santana wasn't halfway to the police station to tell her story. Again Brittany was gripped by that invisible tug to the brunette, and couldn't help but think that if Santana truly _did f_eel the same thing, that she _couldn__'__t_ reveal Brittany's truth, even if she'd wanted to.

"So now that we've got_ that _out of the way, I think we should start with the reason we're all here right now." Sam cleared his throat before speaking it out loud again. "Mercedes."

"You all know my vote on that." Quinn rolled her eyes.

"This isn't going to be a vote, it's going to be a discussion. Since you're the one watching everyone, why don't you tell us what you've seen." Brittany suggested, still regarding Quinn strangely.

"Hummel has been at the diner twice, trying to get_ her_ father to install security cameras and inspecting the walls. He's looking for the non-existent bullet hole and he's not going to let this go. Now that we have the dress, the only evidence that there was an actual shooting is that order pad, I say we steal it."

"Even if we do, Mercedes still knows we were there and that Santana lied. That will raise just as many red flags. He probably already figures if it was one of us anyway, we see him every time we're in the diner, and we just so happen not to be there that one day? He just needs someone to confirm that, and then his eyes will be on us even more than they've been for years." Sam sighed.

"So you're in favor of telling her the truth?" Brittany asked, surprised by Sam's choice. Although she'd told Santana she was against it, the truth was, she had pretty much known that was going to be the outcome. Of course, she'd expected it to be more of a challenge, and she'd expected that _she_ would have had to be the one to suggest it after an excessive amount of discussion, not Sam almost immediately after they began.

"No fucking way. The two of you need to stop thinking with your dicks." Santana's eyes went wide at Quinn's words, and couldn't help but let her eyes flicker down to the crotch of Brittany's jeans. "Or metaphorical in Brittany's case. What, are we going to let in everyone either of you ever have a crush on? This will end _so_ well."

"It has nothing to do with that." Sam protested, blush coloring both his and Brittany's faces as a small smirk appeared on Santana's lips. She _knew_ Sam had a thing for Mercedes,_ and_ she sort of loved hearing it confirmed that Brittany had a crush on her. "I think it's the best solution. Unless you have a better idea. One that doesn't involve exploding."

"I never tried to explode anyone, is this going to be the thing now, forever? Brittany heals humans, Quinn tries to kill them? Pretty fucking typical."

"Oh, stop acting like such a victim all the time. Now isn't the time for you to start dealing with your Brittany issues."

"Um-" Santana cleared her throat, feeling a sense of familiarity in the _human-ness_ of what was going on around her. "I'm obviously in favor of telling Mercedes. I know her. She's the most loyal person I've ever met. She's a much better friend than I am, and the only reason this is even happening is because she's terrified that something happened to me and she can't understand it. I think she'd be the best ally we could have."

"_We_." Quinn scoffed. "Well, obviously it_ is _a vote, and once again, I'm outnumbered, since we know Brittany is going to vote with you two."

"_Brittany_ has a mouth and a brain of her own." Brittany pulled her lip between her teeth, trying to contain her frustration. "And it's not a vote, it's just realistic, we don't have another option. Letting her go to Hummel isn't a choice. I would have heard you out if you'd given us some other way, Quinn."

"Whatever. I don't know why you even had me come out here."

"Because nothing has been decided. I wasn't even the one to suggest it."

"Only a matter of time."

"Give us another option. You said so yourself, Hummel isn't giving this up. If Mercedes is all too willing to talk to him, that does nothing but make it easier." Sam reasoned.

"You're going to do what you want anyway. I hope you have a backup plan when she loses her shit. This is not going to end well, and I swear to you, Brittany, if you start any of your glitter and rainbows positivity shit right now, _I'm_ going to lose mine." Quinn turned away from them again, Santana's uniform still in her hands. She made it about thirty feet away from the others before they watched the dress burst into flames on the desert floor.

"She'll get over it." Sam told Santana, who's mouth had dropped open watching the haste in Quinn's movements. "She'll realize that there was nothing else we could do."

"I'm sorry." Santana whispered to Sam, but didn't take her eyes off of Brittany, something pulling at her heart as she witnessed the conflict in blue eyes. "I'm really sorry."

"You didn't ask to get shot." He shrugged. "Maybe this means something good can come from it for my sister."

"Sam." Brittany snapped, before Santana had a change to respond to those pregnant words. "Let's just figure out how we're going to do this, okay?"

"I think-" Santana started, and waited for the encouraging nod that Brittany gave her. "I think our best bet is for me to tell her, and for Sam to be there."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you guys aren't the only ones who think with your dicks, metaphorical or otherwise." She snickered. "Also, if I tell her on my own with no...um, proof, she's going to think that I'm either totally fucking with her, or I've lost my mind completely. Neither of those outcomes are really going to work, are they?"

At some time during the discussion of plans for the next eighteen hours, Quinn wandered back over and kept on a disinterested scowl. Although Brittany put on a good game face, internally, she was feeling pretty distraught. Implicitly, she trusted Santana, and she knew that if she was telling them that Mercedes would be a good ally for them, then she believed it, but she couldn't help feel a nagging sense of dread. Mostly, she attributed it to Quinn, who's reactions were never the most rational, and Brittany typically didn't fight them, because it was easier that way. Brittany knew that the scowls and scoffs she directed at Santana were really meant for someone else, for _he_r. Even the almost slap, or almost explosion, whatever that actually was, wasn't entirely meant for the dark haired girl. Quinn saw Brittany's face in the diner, Brittany knew that, she knew that in that moment it was obvious the reaction anything happening to Santana elicited a violent reaction from Brittany. Brittany knew that Quinn cared about her, even if she had a terrible way of showing it, and while she believed the other blonde wouldn't _hurt_ Santana, there was no question in Brittany's mind that she'd use that fact to her advantage, especially while she was angry about the perception she had of her opinion being invalidated.

"Are you done?" Quinn snapped the moment she walked back over to the others. "I have shit to do."

"Quinn-"

"Don't, Brittany. Just don't."

"Fine." Brittany slumped, and she felt the faintest touch of Santana's fingertips on her lower back. "We're done. Sam and Santana are going to talk to Mercedes-"

"I actually don't care, but thanks for the update."

Huffing the entire way back to the car, Quinn got in the back seat, and Sam followed her, leaving Brittany to take the driver's seat and Santana to climb in next to her. No one said anything as they made the twenty minutes back into town, and Santana jiggled her leg nervously in the passenger seat. Her imagination began to run away with her as a deep sense of concern settled over her entire being. Flipping down the sun visor, she peered at Quinn in the makeup mirror there, the girl's icy stare never leaving the back of her head. If Santana was wrong, if telling Mercedes led to bad results, she wasn't sure anyone would be able to stop Quinn from doing _something _to her. Pushing the visor back up quickly to shut out the image of hazel eyes, Santana inhaled sharply, and looked over at Brittany, who's blue eyes focuses intently on the road ahead of them. Brittany didn't need to look at Santana to see the worry etched on her face, and somehow, like they'd been doing it for years on end, the blonde's hand moved without thought from the center console until her fingers were grazing just above Santana's knee.

At the contact, Santana had to contain a shudder, not wanting to startle Brittany from the contact that felt so natural, and so soothing all at once. After the initial moment of surprise, she felt her breathing slow, and her leg pressed up just slightly, letting the pads of Brittany's fingers press against her bare leg. Santana wasn't sure what was happening, or what would come next in their race against the clock, and their fight (be it real or perceived) against Sheriff Hummel, but in that moment, she was sure of one thing. She was sure that no matter how Brittany protested, no matter how Quinn complained, and no matter _what _came next in the larger picture, there was no way either of them would ever be able to stay away from one another, and something about that was more contenting than Santana thought she could believe.

Brittany didn't move her hand, not for the entire duration of the trip. She ignored the eyes burning into the back of her head, and she ignored the thought of Sam playfully badgering her about it later, she just absently let her fingers brush Santana's thigh, letting her instinct to reassure the other girl override all else. When they pulled up outside of the diner to drop Santana off, it was Sam who gasped first, seeing through the glass that Hummel stood with one hip resting against the counter, taking to Santana's father, while Mercedes hurriedly filled up his thermos with coffee. Santana squirms in her seat at the vision of the sheriff, back again, on her home turf, talking to the people she cared about with so much still up in the air.

"Well." She breathes, chills running down her spine for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. "I guess it's now or never. Plan's changed, looks like we're all going to be there for this one. Pull the car onto Sycamore and wait for me there. Mercedes' shift ends in five minutes, I'm going in to get her."

Before Quinn could protest (because of course it would be Quinn), Santana unbuckled herself and climbed out of the car. Combing her fingers through her hair and smoothing the fabric of her shirt, she took a final deep breath before walking through the double doors of the diner, hips swaying and flirty smile on her face, needing every source of disarmament in her possession before she once again came face to face with Hummel.


	4. Chapter 4-Not So Black and White

**Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews, they are much appreciated! Not much else to say except here's the next chapter for you!**

* * *

Brittany hadn't realized that she'd been holding her breath, frozen to the world, as she watched Santana walk into the eye of the storm. It was the clearing of Sam's throat and the sympathetic nudge of her shoulder that reminded Brittany that idling the car there was doing absolutely nothing to help, and with one final glance to where Santana stood, arms crossed across her body, nervous, guarding herself, Brittany lifted her foot from the brake and slowly rounded the next corner.

Inside the diner, Santana put on her best front, appearing non-plussed by the presence of the exact person she was trying to avoid, and pretending she actually cared about the lemonade that flowed from the tap she'd pressed on the fountain, busying her hands before approaching Hummel and her father. Mercedes intentionally turned her back and took off toward the old couple sitting in the front, leaving Santana alone with the two men without so much as a wave.

"Hi Papí, hi Sheriff Hummel." She twisted the paper from her straw and slowly sipped her drink.

"Hey _mija. _Practice run late?"

"No." Santana shook her head. Hummel's son, Kurt, was one of her Cheerios, and she knew that a lie like that would be easily discovered. "Just a lot of homework this semester. I actually just came to see if 'Cedes would head over to the library with me. She's much better at this Transcendentalism stuff than I am."

"Mercedes!" Javier called over his shoulder, and the girl sashayed over to him, crossing her arms across her chest and raising at eyebrow at Santana. "Don't worry about your side work, Santana could use some homework help."

"I've got plans tonight." Mercedes answered cooly, avoiding the pleading gaze of her best friend.

"Please, Mercedes? I really need you to explain some of the English stuff to me, and I figured I could help you with that, um, _blood lab _for bio." Santana sputtered out, hoping Mercedes wouldn't shoot her down again.

"Oh." She slowly looked into Santana's eyes, just as warm relief flooded them. "Fine, glad you want to work on it before the _due date_. Just give me five minutes and we'll go."

"Thank you." Santana exhaled slowly, careful not to draw any attention to herself.

"So, as I was saying, Javier." Hummel began speaking again, one eye never leaving Santana. "Your daughter could have been hurt, your business could have been robbed, you just don't know. You don't take credit cards, you don't have cameras, there's pretty much no record of anyone who comes and goes from this place. Seems unwise and unsafe to me."

"Burt, my family has owned this diner for how many years? In all those years, one gun has gone off. No one was hurt, nothing was taken, I don't see why I'd spend thousands upon thousands of dollars on equipment. The odds of something like that happening again are right up there with one of those green aliens on my sign coming to life and walking through that door."

It took everything in Santana's power not to spit the lemonade out in shock, and the quick swallow she took caused the liquid to go down the wrong way and for her to start gasping for breath. Quickly, her father patted her on the back, and she took in air, dabbing her chin with a napkin and hoping that the Sheriff wasn't going to read into her weird episode.

"Santanita, _dios mio_. Are you alright?"

"I'm good." Santana waved off his concern, but felt her already burning cheeks grow hotter under Hummel's gaze. "I just really don't like hearing about the gun going off. It's all anyone has been talking about in school too, and it sort of freaks me out a little."

"You had quite the close call there, I can understand why that would upset you." Hummel soothed, and she tried not to glower at the man who posed such a real threat to Brittany (and to the others, but all Santana could hear in her head was _Brittany, Brittany, Brittany_). She needed to keep her cool, she needed to behave like someone who was present for a gunshot that harmed no one, not someone who'd actually _been_ shot and saved by the sheriff's person of interest. "I know it's hard for you, Miss Lopez. I still get a little startled by the sound if a gun, and I've been carrying one for twenty-five years. Of course, we're all glad no one got hurt, but even so, I think all of Roswell would feel a little safer knowing what happened to the men who were in here that day."

"I certainly would, Sheriff." She put on her best sickly-sweet affectations and tried _not _to roll her eyes at herself.

"Excellent. Since you agree, I'd like to talk to you some more, and Ms. Jones too, since you were the only staff out on the floor that day. Is that alright with you, Javier?"

"It's up to Santana, Burt." Javier looked at his daughter, and Santana sat, conflicted. This wasn't just going to go away. It was small town America where nothing happened, and a stray bullet was the most interesting thing in years, and that would have been fine, Santana would have talked until she was blue in the face about burly old men with a gun. But it _wasn't _a stray bullet, and the sheriff was too paranoid for his own good. She could already guarantee that the discussion would center around someone else, someone who it _couldn't_ center around, not if Santana had anything to do with it. "You have my permission, sweetheart. I know I'd sleep a little better at night knowing..."

"Papí, remember nothing happened." Santana swallowed, the back of her throat still burning from the lemonade. She knew it wasn't going to easy, but she also knew the best shot of Hummel leaving Brittany and the others alone would be for her to convince Hummel, even more than last time, that it was a stranger who asked if she was alright, that it was just ketchup, that there was no such thing as aliens. And all she could _really_ do was pray that Mercedes would trust her again, and that she'd back her up. "I'll come tomorrow, Sheriff, if that's alright. But I do think I've told you all I know."

"You can never comb over a case too finely." Burt pinched the brim of his hat and stood, nodding to both Lopezes. "I'll see you tomorrow around four, Miss Lopez?"

"Yes, sir." Santana put her fake smile back on, and kept her eyes trained on the counter in front of her, fighting the urge to let her eyes follow the man out the door, fighting the urge to make sure he wasn't headed to where Brittany (_and the others_, she kept reminding herself) were waiting.

Santana could barely focus on her father, who had shifted the conversation to school, cheerleading, _normal_. She squirmed in her seat, casting the occasional glance toward the door to the back room, questioning what was taking Mercedes so damn long to change her clothes, though she had a sneaking suspicion that she was _intentionally_ making Santana wait, giving her a taste of her own medicine. When she finally emerged, a half scowl on her face and a backpack slung over her shoulder, Santana tossed her empty glass in a bus bucket, kissed her father goodbye and walked out of the diner, Mercedes following wordlessly.

"The library's the other way." Mercedes finally spoke, watching Santana walk the opposite direction and throw cautious glances over both shoulders.

"Yeah. I know. I also read _Walden_ two years ago. Did you really think I needed your help?"

"I don't know what to think about you anymore."

"I know. And I'm sorry." Santana spoke softly, slowing down so Mercedes could catch up with her. "Trust me, 'Ce, I'm taking you to someone who's going to help me explain everything. It's totally fucked up, and you're probably not going to believe any of it. I mean, _I _barely did, and I have more reason to than you do."

"Let's just get there already." Mercedes tried not to let Santana's words soften her anger, not until she knew it wasn't a game anymore, not until she knew she wasn't being kept in the dark about something dangerous enough to spill her best friend's blood.

They rounded the corner onto Sycamore, and Santana scanned the cars parked there, until her eyes settled on the silver Prius that idled on the curb fifty feet ahead. Looking through the back windshield, Santana squinted her eyes, confused as to why there were only two blondes inside. Slowly, she approached the car, and Mercedes balked the moment she figured out who they were meeting.

"Oh hell no, Santana. I thought you and I were having a conversation, I didn't know you were going to team against me with the Pierces. We don't even _know _them."

"You wish you knew one of them." Santana tried to tease, glancing at Sam and wiggling her eyebrows, but Mercedes wouldn't take the bait. "Listen, just get in the car and you'll understand why I needed them for this."

"I hope so. Especially since you just set the execution date with Hummel tomorrow."

"There won't be an _execution_." She crossed her arms harshly across her chest. "You promised that if I let you in, you wouldn't tell him about the blood."

"I still don't like this."

"I know." Santana pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and Mercedes couldn't resist the desperate, pleading look in her best friend's eyes.

"Fine. But if this is about drugs, or some weird all-blonde mafia that you somehow became a lackey for, I'm out."

"Fair enough."

As Santana opened the door to the back driver's side, Mercedes followed suit on the passenger side. Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, the moment she was back in Brittany's presence, the coil of tension that had been winding tighter and tighter since she'd seen Sheriff Hummel in the diner seemed to loosen. It didn't quite unwind, but somehow, just a glimpse of Brittany's small smile in the rearview mirror brought her back from the snapping point. She wasn't sure where Quinn had gone (although she suspected that Brittany and Sam, and probably even Quinn herself, were aware that her intimidating presence could cause Mercedes to run screaming), but something about being in that car, merging her _normal _world with this new, previously unknown reality just felt _right._

"Um, so, I know we haven't really met, or whatever." Sam started awkwardly, snapping both Brittany and Santana out of their weird eye contact via mirror. "But we know each other's names and stuff, since we go to school together, and we're at the diner all the time, because Br-"

"Sam, stop talking." Brittany cut him off gently, her cheeks coloring simply because she _knew _Sam was going to say something _again _about her borderline stalker behavior, and she figured that _probably _wasn't the best approach to getting Santana's confidante on board with their little secret. "Hi Mercedes. Thanks for meeting us."

"Wasn't exactly a choice. Where are we going?"

"Our house, if that's alright?"

"Yeah. That's, uh, fine I guess." Mercedes glanced over at Santana, who nodded her gratitude. "I've never seen you two without your sidekick."

"Quinn had some stuff to do." Brittany met Santana's eyes in the mirror again, confirming her suspicions with a single glance.

The rest of the five minute ride to the Pierce's house was silent. Nervously, Santana tried to gauge Mercedes' reaction, but the other girl sat largely stoic and expectant, her earlier irritation failing to fade away. When they finally reached the house, it seemed like no one could get out of the car fast enough, eager to quell the rapidly growing tension. While Sam unlocked the door, both Santana and Brittany watched Mercedes cautiously take in her surroundings, a newfound sense of fear evident in her features. At that, Brittany squirmed awkwardly, realizing that while _Santana _seemed to lack any and all rational fear when it came to her, that wasn't to say that _Mercedes _would be the same way, and that it was entirely possible that she'd be able to instill said fear, said _logical _fear into her friend.

"Ma? Dad?" Sam called out, even though the lack of cars in the driveway would lead them all to presume that no one was home. "Alright, looks like it's just us. Mercedes, can I get you a drink, or a snack or something?"

"I'm good. Let's just bite the bullet already." She said quietly, and Santana cringed slightly at the expression. She really, _really _wished that everything would _stop _reminding her of what it felt like to have the life begin to drain out of her before Brittany... "Santana, I want _you _to tell me what happened. No cop outs, no letting someone else tell the truth."

"That's what I planned." She fought the urge to snap at Mercedes, because _seriously _it felt like everyone was attacking her, everyone but Brittany, and, she guessed, Sam. "Just let me finish before you freak out, okay? Because I had a hard time believing it too."

"Yeah. Fine." Mercedes sank down on the couch, never taking her eyes off of Santana. Wringing her hands, Santana shot one last glance at Brittany, who nodded encouragingly while Sam took a seat in the chair opposite Mercedes.

"Okay. I'm just going to go ahead and say it." She sucked in a deep breath, hoping, _praying _that doing this would keep Brittany (_and Sam, and Quinn, _she added hastily) safe. "When the gun went off, I was shot in the stomach. That's where the blood came from."

"You were _shot_?" Mercedes snipped in disbelief, and made to stand up.

"Please 'Ce, just let me talk, okay? I can't do this if I've gotta fight against you." Santana pleaded, and Mercedes tightened her jaw before sinking back against the cushions. "The force of the bullet knocked me to the ground, and I was lying there, dying, until I _wasn't _anymore. Until all the nothingness was replaced with _Brittany_. With her eyes, and her voice, and just, her presence."

Santana swallowed quickly, realizing, one, that there were tears in her eyes, and two, that the feeling she'd just described sounded tragically, beautifully romantic. She could feel Brittany's eyes on her, and she couldn't chance a look in her direction, because she swore that she'd forget her entire purpose for recounting the story and throw herself into the blonde's strong arms, beg her to hold her and kiss her and _be _with her, even though Brittany had said that they _couldn__'__t_. Shaking her head to clear all the ridiculousness, Santana refocused on Mercedes and the look on her face, the _stop bullshitting me _face that Santana herself had perfected over the years.

"So there wasn't pain any longer, there wasn't a _bullet in my body_, and Brittany was gone faster than I could even process her being there. Part of me thought I'd gone into shock and imagined it all, but when I looked at my stomach, there was this." Santana lifted her shirt and revealed the mark that had nearly faded into the slightest shimmer, but that still burned for Santana the same way it had the instant it had been left there, and probably would for the entirety of her life. "Brittany Pierce saved my life, Mercedes. That's why I'm acting weird, that's why I lied to Hummel, and that's why more than ever in my life, I _need _you to be on my side. Please."

"How?" Mercedes single word question was barely a breath, but the three other people in the room heard it, and Santana finally looked to Brittany again, giving her the opportunity to reveal her own truth.

"I'm not human." Brittany spoke equally as soft, and Santana opened and closed her fist, fighting her desire to take Brittany's hand in hers, to let her know that in her eyes, there was nothing for her to be ashamed of.

"Neither of us are." Sam added, louder than his sister. "I know it sounds like a prank, Mercedes, but it's not, we were left out in the desert in 1947, in incubator pods, and we didn't come out until the night Hummel found us out there. Basically, we are what's left of the Roswell aliens."

"You've gotta be kidding me right now." Mercedes finally pushed herself up and glared angrily at Santana, clenching her fists at her sides and standing on her toes so she was eye level with the other girl. "I thought you were gonna be honest with me, and you pull this shit? The Roswell aliens? _Really? _I can't even give you credit for this, because it's the least creative lie I've _ever _heard. Human looking aliens who hang out in diners and miraculously heal the help? Great story. I might not be able to get to the bottom of whatever it is you got yourself into, but I know who _can. _You blew your shot, we're done here."

"I'm not lying, I-"

"Save it." Mercedes put her hand up and turned away quickly, but Sam was quicker, stepping between her and the door.

"Let us show you, please." Sam begged as he watched his sister and Santana both go into a silent panic. "If you don't believe us after, you can tell whoever you want and we won't stop you."

Brittany was shocked at Sam's offer. If Mercedes didn't believe them, they were totally screwed, more screwed than they already were, and she silently thanked whatever higher power was out there that Quinn wasn't there. If she was, Brittany was pretty sure that Mercedes' proof that aliens existed would involve witnessing Quinn telepathically tearing Sam limb from limb, and she shivered at the notion of that, even if it _was _a gross exaggeration. Surprisingly, Mercedes took two steps back, and looked to Santana and Brittany. Without missing a beat, Brittany placed a hand on the small of Santana's back, and while Santana immediately recognized the first purpose, that strange pull to comfort her, the second wasn't clear to her until Mercedes' eyes widened comically, and Santana looked down to the shirt that had formerly been white, and suddenly took on a bright red hue.

"What did you...? How did you...?" Mercedes sputtered, backing toward the door for an entirely different reason. "Holy shit. I...I have to go."

"Mercedes-"

"What kind of fucked up dream is this?" She began frantically pinching herself to no avail. "You weren't lying, and that's so much more messed up than if you were."

"Please don't say anything." Brittany's voice came out meek and uncertain, and it was Santana's turn to comfort her, resting her left hand on Brittany's forearm. "We're not going to hurt you."

"That's what they always say in the movies before they _do. _Santana, you're coming with me, I'm not leaving you here to be prodded, probed, and possibly abducted." Mercedes voice was high and squeaky, and not even Sam could make a joke about Brittany probing Santana.

"They're not going to hurt us." Santana repeated Brittany's sentiment, turning her head to look into Brittany's blue eyes, another silent promise that she truly believed that. "She _saved _me."

"You are _not _thinking clearly. I can't let you stay here, I'm not letting your dumb ass put both of us in danger."

"Come outside with me and let's talk, just me and you." Santana begged, squeezing Brittany's arm and trying to tell her that she _would _make it right. "Please. I know I've asked a lot from you, but you've been my best friend for my entire life. I told you the truth, just _please _trust me, for five more minutes."

"I don't even know if it's really you in there."

"'Cedes, it's not a sci-fi movie. I'll prove to you that it's me, however you want. We were both born at Lovelace Hospital, our birthdays are twenty-three days apart, your mom always teases mine that she got pregnant so I'd have an automatic friend, my first word was '_Ce_, I told you I liked girls when I was twelve, and you told me you didn't care if I liked girls, or boys, or aliens, you'd love me anyway." Santana's face flushed with the realization that in spouting off facts about their friendship, she'd actually sounded like she was challenging Mercedes to keep a promise she'd made so many years earlier, and that whether or not a certain alien girl would allow it, she definitely _did _like one, and she could _feel _said girl's eyes on her.

"Little did I know..." Mercedes muttered, but gave a curt nod to Santana, affirming that they could talk, _alone_.

It was agony for Brittany, both watching Santana struggle with the conflict, and with her own fear about what any of it would mean for her. She wouldn't change it, she _knew _that, she'd never go back, she'd never let that beautiful, perfect girl die, but she was so afraid of Hummel discovering her true identity, of taking her away (and Sam, and Quinn, she'd put them in such grave danger), of falling victim to those bone chilling experiments that she'd only read about in supposed _first hand _accounts. But even more (and she was ashamed of herself for even thinking that it was more important) she was afraid of Santana looking at her in the way Mercedes did, like she was a freak, a _monster, _someone who would hurt her, _kill _her, when all she really wanted (as much as she'd try to bury her feelings) was to protect her, to _love _her even, if somehow that ever proved possible. Their eyes met briefly as Santana turned the doorknob, and she could _feel _the promises there, the words unnecessary to tell Brittany that the other girl would do whatever it took to protect her too. As the door closed with Santana and Mercedes on the other side, Brittany released a shuttering breath, the prick of unshed tears stinging behind her eyes, and Sam was quick to engulf her in a strong embrace.

On the other side of the Pierces' front door, Santana sat on the top step, hopefully patting the spot next to her before Mercedes reluctantly sat. Their friendship had always been so easy, they'd bickered, like all girls do, but in such a short period of time, a gigantic rift at formed, and both for the sake of her their relationship, and for the sake of Brittany (Santana couldn't believe that the tie she felt toward the blonde somehow felt infinitely more important than a bond that had been present for her entire life), Santana _needed _to fill it in, needed to make things right, no matter what it took.

"So you believe that it's me?"

"I don't even know what I believe anymore. You're just-you're totally fine about the fact that there are two _aliens _hanging around town like it's no big deal?"

"Three, actually." Santana confessed, figuring it was better to just get the whole truth out all at once,

"Quinn." Mercedes took a deep breath, knowing without question who the third was.

"Yeah. I was totally freaked out too, Mercedes. I mean, we spend half of our afternoons making fun of the tourists who actually think aliens are _real_, and it turns out we've known some for years. But Brittany...she didn't have to save me, do you know what she put at risk to do that? I read some scary shit online, and the things they would do to her, to all of them, if they knew..." Santana shivered, even in the hot sun. "She put all of their lives at risk for _me. _How could I be afraid of her?"

"I don't know, Santana." She lowered her head to her hands and sighed, exhausted, defeated, and oh so confused. "I really don't even know what to say."

"I was really pissed at first too." Santana began, desperately trying to find some common ground for them. "I yelled, I demanded answers, I thought she was fucking with me. I made the choice to be a part of this, and it's still your choice too."

"It's _not _really though. They know I know, you're on their side, they have no reason to kill you. If I walk away now, who's to say I'll wake up tomorrow?"

"It's not like that. They're scared, this is their entire life on the line, you know? You know what happened to Grant Hummel, and even if he's never come out and said it, you know the sheriff is looking for a way to validate everything his father was called crazy for. Brittany, Sam, Quinn, they'd all just be collateral damage."

"I thought the police were supposed to be the good guys."

"I thought a lot of things 'Cedes, but I don't think good and evil are so black and white anymore. It was the _government_ who did what they did in 1947, and they probably thought they were doing the right thing too. I don't know what the _aliens _were like out in the desert, but if they were anything like Brittany..."

"You hardly _know _Brittany." Mercedes snapped, her emotions bubbling over again. "I just don't get it."

"Neither do I, I can't explain how I feel, okay?"

"No. It's not okay. I'm supposed to trust our _lives _to your unexplainable feeling? Tell me how that makes sense."

"_Nothing _makes sense anymore! Why should this? Please. I'm not asking you to do anything, I'm not even asking you to be a part of anything after tomorrow, I'm just asking you to keep your mouth _shut _and back up my story."

"Oh, is that _all? _God, Santana, you're acting like this is the same as me telling your father that your practice ran late when you skip a shift at the diner, not hiding the fact that there are three aliens who may or may not kill us."

"They're not going to _kill _us." Santana clenched her jaw, beyond annoyed that she couldn't just _make _Mercedes feel what she was feeling. "Why can't you just trust me?"

"Why couldn't _you _just trust _me? _It works both ways."

"It's not the same thing. And look, now I did trust you-"

"Only because I had something you wanted."

"No! That's not true. You think it wasn't killing me not to be able to talk to you about this? We tell each other _everything_, and then the biggest thing that's _ever _happened to me went down, and I couldn't tell you. Do you think you mean nothing to me? Maybe I'm selfish for wanting you to be a part of this, but I'm _not _selfish asking you to protect their secret."

There was silence as Santana and Mercedes stared at each other, clearly at an impasse. Rationally (if rationality even existed anymore), Santana understood her friend, and if she didn't have that strange out of body, near death experience, if she didn't feel the emotions she couldn't explain, the tug on her very soul that just _thinking _of Brittany caused, maybe her reaction would be similar. But that wasn't the case, she _had _experienced those things, she _was _still experiencing them, honestly, and for that reason, the disconnect between her and the one person who'd always understood her, who'd always been on her side, was very real. Mercedes saw the desperation that colored dark brown eyes, and so, _so _badly she wanted to immediately agree to Santana's request, but the gravity of the situation, the unbridled terror she felt when she thought about all she "knew" (although she recognized that referencing _Alien, Invasion of the Body Snatchers _and _The Thing _held about as much value as referencing _Finding Nemo _when discussing the habits of fish) held her back. It wasn't a decision she could make so quickly, even if Santana had.

"I need time." Mercedes finally spoke, after close to a full five minutes where the only sound was the hum of the lawn sprinklers.

"I guess it's my turn to wait then." Santana barely whispered, regretting her confidence that Mercedes wouldn't betray them, regretting that she may have put Brittany (_and the others_) in even more danger.

"You know that I love you, Santana." They never spoke those words to each other, it was just implied, but as Mercedes felt her lifelong friendship begin to splinter right before her eyes, she felt the need for a verbal reminder. "But there's a lot at stake here."

"Yeah." Santana cast her eyes over to the front window, where she could see Brittany pacing the floor, and Sam sitting with his head in his hands. "There is."

"I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah." She repeated, the thought of their four o'clock meeting with Sheriff Hummel causing her heart to begin racing, Mercedes earlier words _you just set the execution date _echoing in her ears.

Santana watched as Mercedes stood up and walked down the driveway, tilting her head over her shoulder to look back just once before she reached the street, her own house only a few blocks away. She wanted to chase her, to beat her down if that's what it took to get her to just understand, but she didn't, she just watched her go, completely powerless. Burying her face in her hands, Santana let ice cold panic take over her, even if she knew that it would do absolutely no good. It was a hand between her shoulder blades that broke her from racing thoughts, and when she looked up with tear filed eyes, tears that came from blind rage, at Mercedes yes, but mostly at herself for believing she was doing the right thing, the bright blue ones staring back at her made her feel even worse.

"Are you okay?" Brittany asked softly, knowing that Santana wasn't, knowing that _none of them _were, but not really knowing what else to say.

"I really thought it was right, I thought she'd be on our side. I fucked this up so bad."

Brittany held her breath, which only caused her already nervous pulse to spike. She hadn't heard the conversation, didn't know what transpired, but if it had been good, Mercedes would have come back inside, and Santana wouldn't be sitting on the porch on the verge of tears. Realizing that telling Mercedes hadn't solved anything made her stomach churn. Was she living her last twenty-four hours of freedom? Should she, Sam and Quinn pack their things and run? Should she turn herself in, since it had been her choice, after all, and hope that would be enough, hope that Hummel would leave the others alone?

"So she's turning me in?"

"Yes. No. I don't know, she says she needs time."

"Oh." Brittany felt her heart rate slow, but not by much. It wasn't over, not yet. "I'm going to talk to her."

"What? Brittany, if I couldn't convince her..." Santana started, but then their eyes locked again, and as she looked into Brittany's, she felt like the blonde could convince anyone of anything.

"I'm going, Santana." Brittany told her firmly. "I know that you guys have been friends forever, and she should trust you, but think about if the roles were reversed. You'd be terrified, and I think the best way to handle this now is for me to be the one to let her see that I'm not what she thinks."

"I hope you're right. Quinn is going to kill me in my sleep tonight if you're not." She groaned, and then watched Brittany blanch at Santana expressing the exact fear that they were trying to talk Mercedes out of. "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't actually mean that. That was a really stupid thing to say."

"It's fine." Brittany waved her off with a sigh. "No one is hurting anyone, okay?"

"Yeah. You should go now though, if you're going to go. Her parents usually get home by seven."

"Okay, yeah." She inhaled sharply. "Sam can drive you home, if you want."

"I'd rather wait here, if that's okay. I just, I don't know." Santana suddenly felt awkward, and Brittany gave into the urge to take the other girl's hand in her own. Yeah, her world might be about to come crashing down around her, but for some inexplicable reason, watching Santana upset, watching her blame herself for something they really had no other option but to try, felt like an equally catastrophic event. "If it doesn't work, I'll figure something out. I'll find a way to steal the order pad, or I'll-"

"Hey, _we _will figure it out, alien alliance, right?" Brittany tried to lighten the mood, but her throat felt tight.

"Yeah." Santana choked a laugh, and when Brittany gave her hand a squeeze, then stood up, she felt like crying for the second time in under a half hour, as she watched someone walk away from that porch.

Brittany made it just around the first corner before she felt a familiar, all too assuming presence at her side. Resisting the urge to groan, figuring somehow Quinn and her uncanny ability to hide in the shadows had seen everything, and would _never _pass up an opportunity to gloat at Brittany's failure, she crossed her arms across her chest and refused to take the bait. They walked in silence for half a block, Quinn's smugness radiating off of her as Brittany's irritation grew.

"Just stop." Brittany huffed. "You've made your point."

"But Brittany, I haven't said anything." The corner of Quinn's lip twitched with an unformed smirk, and Brittany scoffed at the false sweetness in her words. "Just figured I'd come and help you, since it didn't go so well back at the chateau, did it?"

"How are you going to help? You're going to scare Mercedes too?" Brittany spoke through gritted teeth. "Because I seriously doubt that's going to fix anything here."

"And your ideas have worked _so _well today."

"Better than your _lack _of ideas." She snapped back, and immediately felt bad. She _hated _that everything with Quinn was an argument, she hated that it couldn't be easy, that she couldn't have a _normal _friendship with the one person who was supposed to be able to understand her. But the thing was, other than the strange, otherworldly DNA, they had very little in common, and Brittany had long ago given up hope of them watching movies, doing homework, talking about crushes (although Quinn spent _a lot _of her time making fun of Brittany's _creepy fucking obsession with Lopez, _as she liked to call it), and resigned herself to the perpetual bickering. "If you're coming, you need to let me talk."

"I wasn't asking your permission, actually, but thanks. I'll keep my mouth shut if you somehow manage to get this Chernobyl level disaster back under control. But if you can't, I'm stepping in."

"You're not supposed to want me to _fail, _Quinn."

"I don't actually, but my bag is still packed, just in case. I don't have much to lose if I leave this town behind. You, on the other hand have a lot at stake, and somehow I believe that your _passion, _or whatever, for this shithole will help you get it done."

"That's surprisingly _encouraging._"

"Not trying to be." She shrugged. "I'm just being honest."

"Well thanks, I guess."

It was refreshing for Brittany, not having to fight Quinn on one small thing, even if part of her was wondering if there was some type of ulterior motive. Checking hazel eyes for a sign of malice or deceit, both were surprisingly absent, and Brittany let herself breathe the smallest sigh of relief. Approaching Mercedes house, Brittany stared at the blue door ahead of her for a moment, and let her mind drift to Santana. She'd said Mercedes was trustworthy, and despite the earlier incident that would call that into question, Brittany believed her, believed that she could make it right, if only she could convince Mercedes that _she _was worth trusting. For someone who found words difficult, it wasn't going to be an easy feat, but somehow it had to be done. When they made it to the porch, Brittany took one last look at Quinn, hoping for some nod of encouragement, but realizing when she was met with a blank look that her earlier words were the only bone Quinn would throw for the day. Inhaling one last deep breath, Brittany gave two hard raps on the door and shifted her weight between feet until Mercedes peeked through the crack of the door, her eyes swollen and red.

"I told Santana that I need time." She mumbled, refusing to meet Brittany's eyes, and throwing nervous looks to Quinn. "Are you here to end me now for that?"

"No." Brittany shook her head furiously, _hating _being seen as dangerous, as the enemy. "We're here because...because we asked you to trust us and take our side, but you really have no reason to, beyond what Santana is telling you."

"Okay..." Mercedes raised an eyebrow, waiting for Brittany to say more, still not opening the door beyond a crack.

"I want to answer your questions, and I want you to see that even though we're technically aliens, there is also a lot of human in us." Brittany tensed her jaw, hoping Quinn really wouldn't speak, because the last thing she wanted was for her to start off on something about how _she _didn't have human emotions, even though Brittany knew that somewhere deep down, she really _did. _Instead of saying anything, Quinn just rolled her eyes and Brittany continued. "Do you think we could talk?"

There was a long, tense pause before Mercedes opened the door slightly wider, and Brittany heard the jingle of keys before she stepped through, locking the door behind her. Brittany didn't even have to look at Quinn to see the mockery was written all over her face. They were _aliens_, Mercedes had seen Brittany change the color of Santana's shirt, Quinn had _probably _been inside the Jones house while everyone was at the Pierces, assessing that situation, locks wouldn't exactly keep them out. Almost imperceptibly, Brittany shook her head, asking Quinn to stop, even in her own mind, and she was met with another eye roll. Once the door was secure, Mercedes led the two blondes over to the patio set on the other side of the porch, taking a seat, and gesturing expectantly to the bench across from her. A chill ran up Brittany's spine as she looked at Mercedes across the table, sending a silent hope to the great beyond that this would be the _last _interrogation she'd undergo for a while.

"Go ahead." Mercedes spoke after she and Brittany blinked at each other for a while, and Quinn looked like she was somewhere in between aggravation and boredom. "Say what ya'll want to say."

"I was hoping maybe I could show you." Brittany said quietly, the idea coming to her suddenly, and Mercedes' eyes looked like they might pop straight out of her head and roll away. "Not like earlier, I want to show you inside of me...I mean, not like my organs, or anything, like inside of my head."

"What, you're going to project your thoughts out into the sky for me? Some movie of the mystery that is Brittany Pierce?"

"No, it's not really like that. I can't, _control _what information you see or anything, I don't know how to explain it. It's like, I can make this mental connection with you."

"Like a mind meld?"

"You've really seen a lot of science fiction movies, haven't you?" Brittany tried to joke, and she _swore _she could see just the smallest hint of a smile on Mercedes' lips.

"Santana's dad is really into them." Mercedes shrugged. "I don't know how comfortable I am with you seeing into my head. I _want _to believe you, because I want to trust Santana, but I just...I don't know. I'm not sure what I thought she was going to tell me today, but I definitely didn't think it was _this. _All this time, you've been in school with us, hanging out at the Lopezes cheesy alien themed diner, and we make fun of the tourists for believing that the crash happened, it's just a _joke, _except now it isn't,"

"I know." Brittany said softly, the familiar embarrassment about who she was coloring her cheeks. "Imagine how it feels to be us, to walk past that creepy museum with the autopsy pictures in the window, or to have to sit through that crash festival every year. Kinda sucks."

"Yeah. I guess so." Brittany heard the first sign of compassion in Mercedes' voice, and she seized the opportunity to do what she came for.

"I can block out the connection on my end, if you wanted to try this. I'm not going to invade your privacy." She could feel Quinn's eyes boring into her, sure that Brittany would have taken the opportunity to see where Mercedes actually stood. But this was about building trust, and they couldn't expect Mercedes to give them hers without having theirs.

"What about yours?"

"There are some things more important than privacy."

"And you promise you won't hurt me?" Mercedes asked, the first sign of trust.

"I swear." Brittany nodded, and held out her hand. "When we shake on that, I'll start the connection."

"I hope Santana knows that I'm a _damn _good friend to her, giving you my hand on a _promise _that you won't melt me from the inside out."

"She knows that you are, she really believes that you're a good ally for us to have."

"Well, I haven't made my decision yet." Mercedes reminded Brittany, but slowly, almost glacially extended her hand to where Brittany had opened hers.

The connection didn't happen instantaneously when their palms touched, Brittany gave Mercedes the opportunity to back out. She thought that it was Mercedes hand that she felt trembling, but then she realized it was her own. It was the ultimate form of vulnerability, allowing someone to access the core of her being, and she swallowed hard, trying to tamp the anxiety she felt surrounding it. Just as she closed her eyes, about to allow Mercedes in, she felt the warm weight slip out of her hand, and as her eyes snapped open, her heart sank. She shouldn't have hesitated, she should have just done it, should have made Mercedes _know._

"I can't do it." Mercedes breathed, and Brittany vaguely registered Quinn rising up from the seat beside her. "I can't just_ be in your head_, it's not right."

"Wait, _what?_" Brittany looked at her, completely befuddled by that unexpected response.

"You were willing to do your nose twitchy voodoo thing and open up your soul, and you saved Santana's life. None of that makes me any less _terrified_, but I don't need to see inside your head to realize that you're being genuine. I'm sorry I didn't see it right away."

"You don't know me though."

"I don't, but I do know Santana, I've always trusted her instinct, and you just kind of, I don't know, sealed it for me."

Brittany took a deep, gasping breath, feeling like she needed to completely fill her lungs after metaphorically starving for air. Quinn had slumped back in the chair, her natural distrust for everyone and everything causing her eyes to go wide with disbelief.

"R-really?" Brittany stuttered

"Just like that?" Quinn snapped, finally breaking her agreed upon silence, and Brittany resisted the urge (not for the first time that day) to smack her. "What do you want from us?"

"I don't want anything. I just want to know that we're safe now."

"Mercedes. You're safe from us, you've _always _been safe from us, but I can't let you become a part of this without telling you the truth, without you knowing that _we _don't even know what lies ahead. We'll do whatever it takes to keep ourselves safe, and to keep you and Santana safe..." Brittany sighed, hating the idea of Santana in any more danger (_of both of them in danger_, she amended, reminding herself that Mercedes would have to be just as high a priority). "In saving her, I don't know what I've opened us up for. Hummel may be the worst of our problems, or he may be the least, we don't even know really who _we _are, let alone if we have bigger enemies out there."

"But you still saved her, knowing there could be life threatening consequences for you?" Mercedes voice was clouded with wonder, because even thought Santana had said as much, it was different somehow, hearing the words from the blonde. Brittany nodded, and Mercedes saw something deeper than she'd ever seen in another person's eyes at the mere _mention _of Santana to Brittany. "I always knew you had a crush on her, but it's more than that, isn't it? There's only one reason you risk your own life for another person. You're in love with her, aren't you?"


End file.
